Wednesday, November 24, 2010

A note of hesitation

Good afternoon, Twistrose, my neglected story. It's been a whole week (of sick child and ensuing chaos) since I saw you last. Now I don't quite know how to approach you. You're like a house that I have returned to after a long, exhausting journey. You look the same, but not.

I can't find any changes in your facade. But you're taller, more forbidding somehow, and I have this sinking feeling that things have been happening underneath your roof that have nothing to do with me.

Behind your windows, clocks are ticking. Cogwheels are turning. There's a draft in your stairways, and your backyard is darker.

So I'm writing you this, skulking at the gate, peering at the shadows behind your frosted panes. Hope I still have the key somewhere.

photo 'haunted mansion' by express monorail

1 comment:

Li:ne said...

But what will happen is you'll cross the frosty grass of the front yard, hesitate a bit, and then realize the key was in your pocket all along.

The door will probably creak and the hallway will be dark, but then you notice the fluffy slippers by the wall. They've been waiting for you. You'll put them on and then the floors will feel yours again.

And then you just have to light a fire in the woodstove and get writing.