Returning home

There is an earthy taste to the air,
Moist with dampened promise.
There was no food, this morning,
In the pantry, and my footsteps
Printed the scattered dust in the hall.
Everywhere a subtle green shadow falls,
As though the house was wrapped,
Parcelled in overzealous ivy.
I don't look through the windows.
On the roof, a gaping nothing
Lets the rain soak the floor,
And there is a lock on the door
Which I had thought hopeful,
And I was cautious in opening it
So as not to disturb this heavy time.