At the cottage

It’s a summer evening at Sweet Briar cottage. The air has been humid and heavy all day, and now it is beginning to cool, incrementally. There is an almost imperceptible breeze; the gentlest whisper of breath against my skin. I watch the sun descending in the sky, forever awed at the colours it spills. The stream at the back of the cottage trickles steadily along, running over smooth rocks, around fallen branches. I can hear the splashing and laughter of children playing; imaginations running wild.

I am sitting on the front porch. The wooden bench seat is cool under my legs. Jasmine fills my senses with its heady fragrance. A cup of tea sits next to me, on top of a half read book; a green leaf marking my place in the story.

I’m eating salted honey pie; my second helping of the night. It melts in my mouth and I savour every last bite.

The sky is becoming increasingly dark, and I think it’s funny how you can stare right at it, but never actually see the change until you look away, and look back. I think that’s what love is like, and old age.

A couple walking their dog wave at me as they pass by on their evening walk. I wave back, take a deep breath, filling my lungs up with summer, and wait for the first star to wake up.

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