The fleeting house

And they came back to the old cottage then, Maggie and he, after so many years away.
He marvelled at how well nature had hidden the place: “Saved, just for us!” But Maggie grew sad, poignant, thinking of how the old place had changed so, how it had not been cherished and loved. “I want to cry, I think,” she told him. “I’m happy too, but I want so much to cry some tears right now, for this place.”
He touched her though, wiped at her cheek before the tears had even started to well, and that was enough to make her smile and dry her eyes and take his hand as they continued to walk along the edge of the dry stone wall.
This was a palace of great wonder to both their lives, and even the ravages of time and nature could not dim its memory and meaning.
When they got to the gate they both tensed and resisted. “You go first,” she whispered, and he nodded, leading her slowly across the threshold once again.