I pull into her driveway, hands gripped firmly on the rubber steering wheel of the van. Dirt crunches beneath the wheels, a satisfying sound. Autumn has long since settled upon us and the trees sprung from the freshly cut grass resemble paint splattered against a dark canvas. Now outside of the vehicle, I inhale, closing my eyes, and smile. Fresh air washes over me. A concrete sidewalk wraps around her beige, one-story house leading to the front door. Before heading in, I pause, feet scraping to a stop. A contained pool of rocks bears the fruit of a few sporadically placed seedlings. They have grown, but the colors seem to have dulled. Bending down, I balance, hands steadying against the cold concrete, and breathe in their scent. Geraniums …show more content…
Her gaze meets mine and a grin, chapped and pink, stretches across her face. Her arms open and I embrace her. Squeezing her tightly around the middle, I breathe in the familiar scent of her cotton pullover. A mixture of Tide and lilacs. She ends the hug and offers me a warm, soft cookie. I shake my head ‘no’ before leaning against the island. The smell of chocolate drifts through the room along with a vanilla scented candle. Hand in hand, the two fragrances twirl in a delicious rhythm throughout the house. In the living room, football reruns play across television screen. My grandfather’s white feathery hair is visible only over the top of his blue cushion recliner. Pushing off of the white carpeted floor, he rocks, head bobbing in rhythm. Eyes alight with joy, his emotions cast the room in a colorful glow. Despite its gray walls, its bright. A couch, soft and inviting, takes up the center of the living room. Mahogany in color, its felt cushions beckon me. Stretching out along the couch, my joints pop. I sigh in contentment. Through a window above the television, the backyard is visible. Red and gold leaves swirl into the air, creating a vortex of
I found myself in the dining room observing everything and everyone. The dining room was set up to have an intimate feel to it. There were fresh flowers on every table and each table had some privacy. The
I’d never been in a house like this. It had rooms off of rooms, and in each of them were deep sofas and chairs, woven carpet over polished hard-wood floors, tasteful paintings on the walls. She asked if I was hungry, and she opened the fridge and it was stuffed with food-cold cuts and cheeses, fresh
Once we conquered the spiders and climb over the massive piles of boxes, we open the spring loaded door and the smell of coffee and burning wood rushes over us. As we entered the living room we traveled back in time, to an old yet still messy Victorian house. In front of the door the floor is tile; four or five of the tiles are broken where my Papa dropped a hammer years ago. As we move deeper into the living room the floor changes to a gray carpet with yellow and brown stains in many different places. The big windows are draped with large lacey curtains and doilies surround the coffee table and all the sides' tables. We bounce down on a blue floral couch and set our stuff on the oak wood coffee table that is less than ten inches from our shins. Beneath this table there are golden po...
ponytail bouncing with every step she takes. Her cheeks were a flushed, rosy shade, and her green eyes sparkled like emeralds with excitement. “See him?” she asked, turning towards the elderly man sitting in the rocking chair next to the window. Slowly, the man turned, his eyes following the little girl’s pointing finger. He nodded. ...
I stick my hand out of the window of my father's beat up old Jeep Wagoneer. The air is getting colder and colder. Looking around, I see the plants slowly change from bushes to majestic, white-trunk aspens to gigantic, green spruce and other evergreens. These are the signs that we are closely approaching my haven; a little piece of serenity for me to clear my mind. We are going to my family's cabin.
The wind whispered outside my flower curtains. My Rosemary garden swayed to the noiseless tune. I sit quietly watching their soft movement, the flowers I worked hard to nurse. The rest of my yard remained parched, with time it had given defeat to the hot Alabama sky.I glared at the cracked dirt, cursing it for giving in to the pressure, praying I won't do the same .I sip the cool lemon ice tea, the cubes of ice brush on my dry lips.
“Are you sure I can’t just transfer schools?”. A question I had asked a billion times over. “100%. I promise you, you will be okay”. My mom rubbed my back as my head dropped onto the cold kitchen counter. I didn’t want to hear that I would be okay. I wanted them to let me have my way. “You’re in your last year what difference would it make”. My brother joined the conversation as if someone had asked. I rolled my eyes, letting him know his opinion was being recognized and very neatly filed in the trash bin in my brain. I made my way to my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, burying my face into the pillow. My parents were right, I could handle it. I just didn’t want to.
But more captivating is the green grass that’s sprouting among my dormant lawn. It’s another sign that spring is coming. After the harsh winter, I see signs of life in nature…. This morning I found some time to meditate and think about the last couple of days. It seems that we have gone through an emotional roller coaster…so many highs and equally lows.
I pulled into the driveway of my house and parked my car. I grabbed my coat and bag and opened the door. When I got out I instantly began to smell the sweet aroma of the long rose bushes making their way out of our fence and into the world of our driveway. I was so captivated by the fall breeze, and the beautiful smell of fall in the air that I didn't even know that I was to the door. As I snapped back into reality, I looked up and I was standing at my doorway.
As I gaze out the window of my living room, I welcome the warm rays of the sun to soak my skin. Such a rare occurrence to see the sun in December. The tranquillity that imbues the room intrigues me, even the traffic below has subdued, and I have to gaze into the street to believe it's still there. A light tapping on the front door draws my attention away from the road.
We pulled into the driveway slowly as not to disturb dust that lay sleeping on the broken concrete. With my arm half hanging out of the window, I tried to catch the snowflake blossoms of the dogwood trees that danced on the gusts of wind like lovers at a ball. From the yard the smell of grandma's fried chicken mingled with the wind, playing hide and seek with my senses. This visit seemed to be a little different from the rest of our Sunday afternoon outings to my grandparents' house. From the yard I could see the old rocker my grandfather sat leaned up against the half torn screen door of the entrance to the house. Stepping onto the half dilapidated porch I noticed that even the usual haunting creeks of the century old timbers seemed to sing a song of sorrow. My brother and I followed my mother as she opened the screen door to step inside.
It was finally fall break. I was visiting my grandma for a few days. Well past dinnertime, I pulled up to the white stately home in northern rural Iowa. I parked my car, unloaded my bag and pillow, and crunched through the leaves to the front porch. The porch was just how I had seen it last; to the right, a small iron table and chairs, along with an old antique brass pole lamp, and on the left, a flowered glider that I have spent many a summer afternoon on, swaying back and forth, just thinking.
Some of the plants I noticed around the green roof were wildflowers and
Fortunately, I wake every morning to the most beautiful sun lit house. I sit on my porch sipping coffee, while I drink in an atmosphere that steals my breath away. Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit. Green it is always so green here at my house. Here where the air lays heavy and cool on my skin as does the striking rays of the sun upon my cheeks. I know in my soul why I choose to be here every day. Pocketed in all the nooks and crannies of these valleys and hills are stately homes, rich with architecture resplendent. Diversity is the palate here; ...
The light from the sun reflects off the pure white wall, illuminating the room. The dust floats, undisturbed by the empty house. This is what I see as I launch myself out the door, into the hot summer air, into the sounds of playing children.