The Cottage

The Cottage

The cool morning mist
surrounds her like a fog
as she steps lightly
into the forest

Dew drops cling to her hair
as she searches for that
special place where she
once belonged

Searching for landmarks,
the old dead tree (long since
returned to the earth)
she loses her way and
finds herself circling
...listening she hears
the babbling of a brook

Standing there for what
seems like hours, she
wonders which way to go,
looking down she sees
the remnants of an old
stone path and instinctively
knows that the cottage is nearby

As she makes her way through
the overgrowth that was
once the garden, past the
low rock wall, there under
the canopy of the massive oak
trees she stops, her breath
coming quickly now in anticipation,
as her search comes to an end

The door stands open, waiting, and as
she makes her way through the cobweb
covered doorway, past the old brick
fireplace, she stops, remembering the
smells of her grandmother's cooking
like it was yesterday

She can still see that
loving face (gone for decades
now) smiling down at her,
eyes twinkling, hands
warm and welcoming

As the hours tick by,
she sits in the tiny kitchen
of the abandoned cottage
that once was her childhood
safe haven and in her mind
the years slip away and she can
once again hear that lovely voice,
softly humming and she yearns
to have her grandmother's arms
around her once more

Lynn West
(c) 2009