The Cottage On Chestnut Hill

In a small cottage, the kind of small cottage that you can find hidden at the end of roads that you would swear you’ve never noticed but you must have driven by it everyday since forever

because

roads and cottages surrounded by wild gardens do not just appear  as if by magic out of thin air- isn’t that right?

So, back to my little story.

In my small cottage, surrounded by a wild garden  chocked by weeds with softy downy thistles and tiny pink and purple blossoms I work on my needlepoint near a window with aged cream colored curtains tied back with packing string.

Last week I saw a car drive by and then the car  stopped and rolled back and the driver and I were eye to eye, as it were.

I wasn’t going to stand up, because I was very busy but I decided to because my knee was a little stiff and I wanted a drink of water anyway.

So I stood up and the driver in the car leaned back and then leaned forward and I saw her take off her eyeglasses, clean them and put them back on again.

Then she sat there and then she looked straight ahead and nearly drove into the tree at the side of the road ( a beautiful twisted apple tree that produces the tastiest apples anywhere on Earth ).

” Silly woman, ” I said, wishing just a tiny bit that she had hit the tree or maybe the fence because nothing ever happens on quiet little roads like mine ” you’d think she had seen a ghost or something.”

I guess I had startled her- my windows do need a bit of cleaning because they are a little dusty.

I went to my little kitchen and got myself a glass of water and on the way out I checked my calendar again- because I am so bad with numbers and impossible with keeping track of dates

January 6th, 2019 FULL MOON

I had written in red- with little paw prints  all around the square because I have not only a taste for over sweet apples, needlepoint and gardening.

I have a wolfish sense of humor too.

 

RDP Friday: COTTAGE

Jovana

 

Her dreams of Olympus

of dwelling among the Gods and Goddesses

ended on a road

where she watches the world race by

from her window

and the indifferent world sounds like a pride of  lions hungrily, passionately

taking down it’s prey.

 

She keeps her dreams of Olympus

alive

inked in a books with a shaky hand

that

she leaves beside

her

many half drunk  glasses of  wine and pictures  of a life

greedily, licentiously,  devoured

by

a once corpulent

now starving

Jovana.

 

RDP Thursday – CORPULENT