page 41 |
I hear whispers of small feet on the steps, Gay laughter reigns in the parlor, The clink of spoons in teacups on the porch. Sweet scent of flowers in the arboretum, The smell of cigars in the study, Perfumed ladies sweeping through the sitting room. Shimmering silk shirts smoothed by a touch, Rough linen sheets folded in neat squares, Wood blocks at the back entrance next to a scrimshaw knife. Iced tea in iced cups for the hot summer days, Hot chocolate in mugs for the cold winter nights, Strawberries and cream in the kitchen. A bright fire crackles in the hearth, Shining silver sits in precise places on the table, Faded pictures in frames hang on the wall. I smile, and look again, but it is all...gone. --Liz Scott |
page 43 |
|
|
|
|
|