Love, Part One

The floor boards were sturdy and never creaked under her weight as she carried in her belongings. The warm sun shone in through the lace curtains, heating the space more than anything could in that moment. It was a life of its own, that ray of light. The couch sat readily, it's  cream colored knit cushions were covered by a thin blanket to protect it from dust that had gathered on the light wood that was the back of it. There was a red rug covering the floor between the couch and fireplace which had tassels on both ends, and an ornate flowery design in it. This place was home. The gas stove was on old cast-iron model that once took wood, but was converted and cleaned up. Its light blue porcelain still shining like new. The counters were marble and there sat a small oak table that sat four in the right corner. She had many happy memories at that table.

Almost all cookware was cast-iron, seasoned and ready to go. Her parents spared no luxury to make this cabin feel rustic and accommodating. Lilly filled the cabinets with her food, bringing nothing perishable for there wasn't a refrigerator for obvious reasons, and began rinsing the dusty glasses for later use. The main bedroom was simple with lace curtains and a queen sized bed. She removed the thin sheet that kept and debris from soiling its clean surface, and looked down at the  familiar patchwork blanket that had been there for as long as she could remember. This was always where her parents slept. She may have once heard the story of this quilt, but she couldn't remember. Many things were hard to remember now, and it crushed her.

There were bookshelves full of things to read; literature, science, anatomy, "how-to",  horology, astronomy, etc. There was even a battery powered television and DVD player that sat on a wheeled table in the corner of the living room. Lilly had luckily remembered to grab things to watch. She also brought her sketchbook and many empty diaries; she loved to write, and swore to write a book in her time here.

 

She placed the rolls of toilet paper near the door so she wouldn't forget them when she went to the slender building with the crescent moon carven out of the top. She smiled. She was fourteen years old before she would walk out there at night alone. Her family would bring chickens with them when they came up, and eggs were always had in the morning. Sometimes her mother would make a cake with powdered milk, which reminded Lilly that she had forgotten to pick up some of that.

She groaned with frustration.

There was a satellite phone in the drawer of the bedside table, for emergencies only her parents had always warned. But before she left they told her she could use it to call them any time for any reason. This made Lilly smile, and relieved that she wasn't entirely isolated.

The sun smoldered between the mountains, and Lilly was settled with a bowl of soup and soft piano music in the background. She was enjoying her freedom. Her freedom from the black cloud that lingered over her house and the dark tendrils of sorrow that reached from every corner. But here, there was nothing but good feelings and warm memories.

Not memories that are trapped in time, never to be experienced again, not cold and forlorn like the distant light of the stars, but reminders that the vibrancy of life never falters, that is just as treasured as it is now. Time is in her grasp once again, and does not need to pass her to be cherished. This is the great force of nature, this is why she needed to come and be surrounded by the soft hum of life teeming about around her. This is the medicine of the wild.