There is a house I see on my walk that I take most days, which is positioned next to the tramline. It catches my eye because the doors are painted a nice mint colour. Standing on its own plot of land it is much grander than the other terraced houses. I look at it because for a moment it takes me back to another time. One day, I noticed outside the house a table with some chairs propped against it so the rain would fall off.  The chairs were the type you would find in a school hall. This small detail, took me to another place…

 

A little cottage.

Four windows face out, one door at the side, two rooms seen through two of the lower windows.

Inside, the ceilings look low, I might have to bend a little to get in, like Alice did.

I wander.

A fireplace in one, in the other a place to prepare, to be busy.

Scattered shadows, a bit of a staircase leading us upstairs.

A bed, a chair, two perhaps. Comfortable, useful, necessary

Tidy and neat, tucked in the park at night,

Winds circulate around the house grown out of the earth

A face at the window, only for a second.

Did I see one?

An inhale, an exhale.

A hair across the face kind of a breeze lifts the washing high leaving shadowy shapes on the ground. With each lift of air, dust is swept away.

The chime of a bell, or maybe something other.