Grafton Globe Newspaper
Winter 2020 Edition
In the midst of a glorious city there dwelt a seemingly endless lane of iron poles adorned with beautiful wreaths of vibrant pine and spruce, which stood proudly alongside streets of silver toned stone, just as one may presume. Flickering candles lit windows of shops and homes alike, and elegant horses of silken mien trotted joyously alongside passing crowds. Gone was the sweet scent of the lily and the lilac, both of which were only so lovely as to thrive in the gentle touch of that dear departed warmth, and merely wither away in the bitterness of a desolate winter's chill. One should claim, perchance, such thing be most precious, whilst others could see not beyond the abolishment of a most lovely company, which they did not so much mind to note with sincerity, until it was at last perished; only then could they cherish it’s past.
Behind a floral curtained window of soft rose tint and wonderful aesthetic appeal, there dwelt a young girl, pale eyes glistening in the light of a grand and opulent candle, as she peered out into the bustling life that embraced the evening scene. Seldom did she feel so much a part of it more than she was a cloistered spectator, who may watch, but never discover so sweet a company be upon her in earnest. How lovely did it appear to her to be none other than a nameless being of lively countenance, whom may, without but the slightest knowledge, paint a vision of merriment for those whom should never be so much discovered! She was not to be considered so unfortunate a kind in an ordinary day of little seasonal essence, for she did bask in the wonderful grandeur of a glorious life, which many can merely envision with wishful minds, and the folly of a hopeless optimism. There was, to her annual holiday, little merriment, however, and not cheer in the slightest. Merely the wishful thought of an experience she should never be so fortunate to receive. It was but a dream, and not of the sort that one may wish to obtain in the slightest, but simply the kind to be allowed a mere hours chance to prosper, only then left to wither away as it slips slowly from the recollection of mind, until alas! Its torment returns. That evening, as she slipped off into the solitude of her desolate chamber’s company, the picturesque vision of its own honest beauty turned at once to no more than an abyss, of which put forth no light, until all at once sight returned. Before her stood a handsome spruce decked in gold and silver, with candles burning gently, illuminating its otherwise darkened countenance. How familiar it did appear! Though seldom did she look upon anything so lovely. A quiet melody hummed about, almost as if it wished simply to conceal the vanished harmonies of the joyous nightingale. How lovely a dream she did believe it be! All she had ever desired of the season stood before her at once in the very company of that old manor! There she could remain for an eternity, according to her honest speculation, without but the slightest desire for anything beyond its mere presence; only there did there exist the entirety of that merriment she’d craved without sincere consideration for its own earnest existence. Perchance, it was no dream at all, but merely what had stood all around, as she blinded her mind to its company for none other than a wish to have what she already held, in truth. It was her holiday, and no wish was so necessary to allow it be seen, other than the ability to experience the life she had rejected out of her own folly. She was, indeed, to have a joyous season! For only now did she acquire the knowledge of her own fortune and festivity. “How lovely it is!” cried she. “How silly was I to have believed such thing be a mere fantasy when all around me it did stand!” The End.
1 Comment
Steve Silva
1/4/2019 07:07:46 am
Wonderful story line! I really enjoyed reading it and feel it was very well written
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