She looks to see if anyone
is watching,
Quietly, like the snow that
will soon be falling, she floats
out the front door,
Heart-pounding as she races to the little cottage,
the tiny home, warm hearth - slightly in shambles,
but beautiful nonetheless, she thuds on,
Her feet hit the cobblestone path
rhythmically until she smiles contentedly
at the butter yellow light gleaming
from her cottage window,
She bursts through the front door, smiles at
the women sitting, sifting, at the table,
Today is the day,
The day when this dream is put to
rest in the ground,
She sits, and sifts, through photos and
snapshots of cathedrals and tea shops,
Remembering, nostalgic, wistful,
'Memories now' says one of the women,
and she nods, yes, memories...