Rose ambles right past me,
The sitting room has two couches,
A satin, salmon pink one with claw feet,
A boxy faded navy blue one occupied by a giant knitting basket with
A multi colored afghan flowing out of it.
Everywhere there is stuff,
Taking up space,
Stacks of books,
A set of golf clubs,
A hat rack loaded with hats,
Boxes of dried flowers,
Paintings leaning on paintings leaning on the wall,
Tucked next to a dead plant,
A purple paper kite.
I went to it.
“No!” Rose yelled. “Don’t touch it.”
But it’s too late.
Read the StormWeaver story from the beginning by choosing “StormWeaver” in categories.