Tonight's walk on Fernhill

The remnants of Christmas' soft glow bathed the street in light.
I walked past 6114, where the dearly departed's last bits of furnishings stood in mourning, waiting for their new home ... like the orphaned belongings of a sole guardian. It was my fourth or fifth visit to these ruins. I don't know why I was so drawn to them. Maybe it was because it felt forbidden? Taboo? To casually rifle through decades of life tossed on the curb.
Rounding the corner of Holman, the sounds of the saturated grasses, breathed to break the silence.
Upon an open window I voyeur-ed, and saw the affections of adults.
I walked to reclaim the neighborhood,
trying to forever shake the ghosts of yesterday.