Thursday, June 23, 2011
Walking through the woods,
sodden leaves clung to the soil
causing a squishing sound under foot.
Bare branches crossed my path
where circular mirrors dangled,
reflecting youthful faces
of family, long since dead.
They smiled at me, serenely.
I tried to speak but my voice
had no sound.
When I looked closer,
The faces turned to flowers.
There was a faint scent
A white poodle sat under a tree.
A brass key swished from his tail.
It had my name and house number
engraved in blood red ink.
Overhead, I heard bells chiming.
When I looked up, there were shells
tumbling as snow from a flame sky.
They landed in front of me,
melting into tiny yellow crabs.
I turned, facing a bronze archway
leading out to a lane.
In front of me was a tiny cottage
with a red door and white handle.
My name and number was on the door.
I stood outside, brass key in hand,
unsure about entering.
Posted by Kerkedijk at 6/23/2011