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A Simple Place


I am painstakingly proof reading all of my past Berry Tales, correcting comma splices and spelling errors...oh my, it is daunting and somewhat humiliating. I am doing this to resubmit my Berry Tale Books to Amazon. Anyway, now and then, I find a passage I would like to share. This one is from December 2015...hope you like it.



Fire Island

It was a very old house on Fire Island. The doors were open, and the vines grew where they wanted. It was okay that the windowsills needed paint and that a lone Blue Morning Glory hung from somewhere against the gray batten. There was a kettle on the stove for coffee and a calm ocean breeze blowing the cloth curtain in and out of the little cottage where the old woman lived. She was a dancer in her youth and now, at ninety – five, she did yoga on a matt outside the kitchen door. She made lunch with consideration of color - deep yellows and greens were arranged on her plate for loveliness and chosen for health. A large seashell from the shore hung from the ceiling with twine in front of an open window, a reminder, I suppose. Her pots and pans were red and hung randomly on the wooden kitchen wall while shapeless pillows with tiny prints settled in old wicker chairs, waiting. I imagined the air drifting through the gardens, into the old house, tasting fresh carrying a hint of salt from the sea and mystery from the past. It is an image I will keep for a while; I will keep it close for inspiration. For me, it defines the simplicity of a day where all the small things matter and the choice to slow down a throttle to recognize those soft whispers and the people around me, a day to have a simple lunch while a warm puff of winter air finds its way inside, hinting of spring yet warning of the coldest month ahead... It is something soothing to take into the New Year.


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