If I could locate my heart…
I pay the taxi and slip along the long drive in unsuitable shoes, suitcase bumping my legs, past snowdrops dusted with snow. So lovely.
(Snowdrops in snow, foxes in gloves; a toad in a hole, a kiss for your two lips.)
The dining room will be cold as a cave. (Puts the mice off! ) You in scarf and dressing-gown, reading the paper.
Gavel opens the huge front door – ‘Morning Miss’ – as if I’ve just nipped out for cigarettes. ‘There’s coffee.’ He pauses. ‘And a fire.’
I hurry up the stone steps past sleeping lions. A fire!
It might begin to melt.
M J Lewis 2017
Not quite spring yet, but signs of it in my garden in the form of a tiny patch of snowdrops. I seem to have gone off on some country house vibe – did see a long drive lined with snowdrops, the house out of sight around the corner, when out walking last week.
Thanks to all who visit and especially to those who come on in and comment. Tea and toasted crumpets anyone? (Might need UK/US translation!)