The visitors
I am a small cottage up on the hill. Every morning, I open my windows and my front door. First enters dawn which turns the walls blue, followed by the sun laying straws of wheat on my table. Inside my cottage the day lights up the dark corners while the lamps go quietly out. I am silent but breathing and aspiring to movements and voices, as all objects do. My chairs are unoccupied, except for one — the person who lives here. She's taking her breakfast. Outside perfumes slowly drift in and drown her morning gown, hover over my chestnut dresser. I am being invaded by flowers. All these visitors pour me a drink of magic liquor and I can hear a faint sound of happiness.
|
5
favs |
664 views
10 comments |
127 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
The author has not attached a note to this story.
Other stories by Erika Byrne-Ludwig
Tags
This story has no tags.
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
Beautiful. I think of gossamer, filagree, delicate. "I am being invaded by flowers."
Lovely description, Dianne. Thank you.
Beautiful work.
Very nice, Erica! It exudes joy.
Erika* :-( My apologies!
Many thanks, Gary and Todd, for your lovely comments.
This just makes me feel happy! Thanks!
That's the idea, Darryl. Thank you.
Your last sentence triggers kind and hopeful emotions. *
Many thanks,Tim, for your sweet comment.