As the old house slows down, so the children speed up

The flower garden has turned into weeds. The fence is falling and silently rotting over the ­berry bushes that stand upright like dry twigs. Through the dusk, the house peeks through. The home that, like the multitude of birds and plants, has regained its richness and ­beauty after my two sisters, our children, and I moved into the very place where we ourselves grew up.