The past has floated away like fluff on a dandelion as the prairie winds blow across the old abandoned yard. The young girl’s grandmother has long since passed away, but the old house from her childhood still stands as if to be a testament to her very existence.
The skeleton of a house is what remains, but in the mind are memories… laughter, tears, struggle and joy are carried by the wind as it flows through the empty windows. Heat radiating from the wood burning stove, smells of fresh baked bread permeating the air, the cluck of chickens in the coop to the sound of chicken sizzling as it fries in the old cast iron skillet…
The home place
Yes, reality tells me that fairy tales are not really all that important in the whole scheme of life, but it is fun to dream. It’s just that all of us have different ideas of what really defines a fairy tale. Adventures and exploration can take place in my own neighborhood or the other side of the globe.
I’ve always said that I’m lucky that I’m easily amused and could entertain myself in a cardboard box. After all, lots of dreaming can be done inside a box.
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