You caught the express train to the city, running down the steps two at a time. A shout to the guard – whistle to his lips – and you jumped on.
My ambitions are simpler.
I sit in the waiting room, listening for the reassuring chug of approaching steam, the slam of doors, the cheery greetings of the porter. I stroke the cat, sip my tea.
Not this train; not today.
I seem to be wearing a hat and veil; my full-length dress rustles as I rise to make my way back through the meadow to the house with the three chimneys.
M J Lewis 2017
Do come in, sit down and admire the ever-changing view out of the window here.
Thanks to all who visit and most especially to those who stay to comment.