There Is a Cottage....

We built it together, she and I. She needed help, and I traveled up and settled in with her and devoted my self to the care of her and her children. There we made a home, and it was wondrous.

 

It's a cozy little place, comfortably hidden deep within the aching pines and stoic oaks of a sacred forest. In the dusklight of a long summer day there is birdsong and the fog of swallows in frenzied flight, while crisp autumn mornings glow with dewy amber and a sense of the miraculous. The perfect rhythm of nearby water over ancient boulders silhouettes our presence here, as if our very union produces the magick that gives rise to life all around us. A garden of vegetables and herbs is annually bountiful with happy proof.

 

Each day was an exercise in joy. We would arise, caffeinate, and proceed into the world one minute at a time, sharing something simple but profound in love to each other before spreading off in separate directions. The children watched with oblivious serenity for years, whining over imperfections and temporary obstacles to their endless pleasures. At the antics of the young ones we would laugh, their complaints the very evidence that our efforts were grander than great.

 

Eventually the children grew, and of the two the young one began to lend a hand, realizing her special world was only special because someone else labored endlessly to make it so. Her mind's maturation was touched by the beauty and compassion of this place. And as she developed a self and began to see the heartbeat of our home, the pines stretched farther upwards and the swallows fed generations and the inspiration of the creek continued to whisper lullabies each and every night.

 

The other child, however, the one needing unique care, began to grow beyond his control - and beyond ours. His behavior ransacked the cottage, and his lyricless laughter pierced the late night tranquility and his physical strength suddenly exceeded that of his caretakers. Soon our special oasis was under threat.

 

Following lengthy and painful battles in the nearby village, just as the doorstep of horror was coming into view, a glorious beam of luck shone down upon us: an offer was made to transport the unique child to a place where he could be properly cared for, and the health and safety of his family would be spared. We wiped our brows, saved from imminent tragedy. Finally, the sweet sacred space felt miraculous again.

 

And then something else happened. She changed. She changed and left, promising to meet me here again someday.

 

I'm alone in the cottage now. The roof lurches inward, sick. Insects and overgrowth consume all. The garden is a chocking mass of weeds and brambles. Branches lie rotting against broken windows. The swallows have long since fled. Summer sunsets are hidden behind cold clouds, and in the mornings the grass is crunchy with frost.

 

She promised to meet me here someday.

 

I can still hear the brook. It is made of tears and driven by madness.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Most of the way through, I was thinking, "What an idyllic existence they have. Almost like a fairy tale," and then it turned dark. I like this. I would use a few more commas, but it's still very well written and quite interesting.

[Otimbeaux]

That means a lot. Thank you very much!