Frank Lloyd Wright | Kentuck Knob

From darkness to light I move into a room perched on nature’s lap. The view is remarkable, the house more so.

A hodgepodge of bizarre collections sit silently on antique desks, tables, and chairs. Fossilized dinosaur teeth play company with a Finnish laminate-wood leaf sculpture.

I feel out of place, as though I’ve invited myself over to a nice party and worn my old jeans.

The rain drips down between triangular openings in a wooden skylight onto the cold, stone porch. The center of the home-the fireplace, lies silent and soot blackened. Stories of its carpet-singeing heat invoke visions of warmth and warm nights. We move into the dining room, followed by the kitchen and bedrooms, navigating through narrow hallways to cozy yet angular rooms. Every space is utilized, every detail thought of.

But the hosts are not home, the house is silent. They’ve left their knickknacks and photographs for us to peruse; the stories of lives once lived are stacked on the bathroom counter.

We finally face the rain and cold again, chills wrapping around my fingers and nose. An umbrella is but small comfort.

Even still, the view is breathtaking. I envy the departed inhabitants for the precious experience of living in this place…even for a few years. And I wonder at the creative mind of the architect who never set eyes on the place.