Funny, she didn’t remember driving here….but here she was, having walked the only clear path to the entrance of the lakeside cottage, her frigid winter breaths staccato beats on the peeling red of the front door (she knew no one would answer), she trembled slightly turning the unlocked door handle.
Grey, weathered, mirror image of her self, the cedar board structure had become more hillside, less lakeside, settling and bending under the weight of time, life’s toll exacted, the surrounding trees pillowed and supported it, much like the curve of a mother’s arms protecting her frightened child.
Memories burst through the front door along side her and flooded the great room with nostalgia thicker than the years of accumulated dust that clung to the furniture covers, clouding her eyes even more than the recently diagnosed glaucoma; yet she felt as if her vision had never been clearer than at this very moment.
She wandered the cottage, moving leisurely from room to room smiling, she silently (for the most part) narrated while her mind’s movie projector replayed the take up reel, a sentimental showing of more years than not spent with the man who built this house for her, the man who never left her side, until death paid him a visit, stealing him before his time, before her time; she stopped smiling.
Leaning against the cold of the kitchen’s vintage, porcelain sink, she gazed out the window at a snow dusted still life, brush strokes of brown bark, intermittent pine needle green, the distant iced blue of the lake reflecting bits of shimmering mid-January sun, as beautiful a view now as it was 40 years ago; she turned toward the great room, the rocker by the sliding glass patio doors beckoning, and realized she needed to sit a while, close her eyes, rest and release some of the emotion of the day.
Funny, she didn’t remember waking up from her nap, let alone leaving the cottage, yet here she was, running down the branch strewn back path towards the dock with the agility of a 20 year old; so taken with this miraculous feeling, she hadn’t noticed the young man standing at the water’s edge; finally, their eyes met and he waited until she fell into his arms, their laughter echoing, wind whispering through the pines, we’re home.
v. cool
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Thank you, Clark.
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Memories burst through the front door along side her and flooded the great room with nostalgia thicker than the years of accumulated dust that clung to the furniture covers, clouding her eyes even more than the recently diagnosed glaucoma; yet she felt as if her vision had never been clearer than at this very moment.
This is an excellent piece of writing, Denise! Kudos to you!
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Thank you so much, Reena! I’m glad you enjoyed it. I appreciate your feedback.
And thanks again, for reblogging 🙂
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Reblogged this on Reena Saxena and commented:
Now of the whole ….. by Denise
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Love that ending. Such a fine circling to it.
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Thanks, D! Didn’t know the ending when I began the story.. but if you listen hard and long enough, they’ll tell you☺
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Wow, what a great piece!
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Thanks, Susan!
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such a fine story
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Thank you, Larry. I’m glad you enjoyed it!
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You’ve outdone yourself with this one… truly, truly lovely! I would wish for us that we could all go home in that manner. I know there will be so many welcoming souls on the other side.
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Thank you, Josie. Surely, not a bad way. Not at all 🙂 You and me both. I’m counting on a pretty good reunion, including the 4 legged ones 😀
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Okay, Denise. . . now I am trying to comment through tears. This is so beautifully written!
Great choice of music to accompany your Six.
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Though I take no pleasure in having made you cry…I’m thrilled, lol. As writers, we strive to string words together such that whoever reads them will feel something – whether sadness, anger, fear, frustration, …
Thanks. I found the music to be haunting and at the same time relaxing.
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Tears here also……this was so well written I was walking the room with her and running down to the dock and the waiting arms. Perfectly described.
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Your tears are a certain seal of approval 😀 Thank you, Janet!
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Memories burst through the front door along side her and flooded the great room with nostalgia thicker than the years of accumulated dust that clung to the furniture covers, clouding her eyes even more than the recently diagnosed glaucoma; yet she felt as if her vision had never been clearer than at this very moment.
Slow clap. This is awesome stuff. Great Six!
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Thank you, Paul. Thank you.
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Ah, to go home so softly!
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Ditto! Like a dream 🙂
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I felt the floor and smelled the musty cedar and fell in love once more with the beating of the youthful heart.
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Glad you enjoyed it Lisa!
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Yes! Yes! Yes! Please let this be the afterlife….
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🙂
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Oh, this is just beautiful! It could be the poster child for “How to Write a Six Sentence Story.”
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Thank you, Kristi! I’m glad you enjoyed it 🙂
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A smile, a tear, a drop of ink.
This I will always recognize as the voice of the Denise fates willed to meet …again.
I cannot hear the music you chose…but see this:
Dusk, in the back garden, birds are saying their last thankful songs for a day lived, a cello is playing not in classical forms but free, meditative, counterpoint to the bird singing now…it answers the cello phrases, I am sitting at my old rockin chair, a cigar and…
…a smile and a tear.
An imperfect driftwood in a perfect moment.
Gifted without you knowing.
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“A smile, a tear, a drop of ink…”
I remember struggling to write this piece, staying up until 2 or 2:30 in the morning so I could publish it and have it be among the early Sixes. You would have loved the music, Nick. I know it. It was classical – opera. Two young women, 1 with blond hair, the other dark. It was quite a beautiful performance. Cello? I believe there was. I am not surprised one bit you would know this.
I see you, sitting in your rocking chair, of course, a cigar…your smile and a tear, my gift.
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