The Dark Attic


The dark attic, the bearer of stillness….

The frost glazed glass window, hung high; Etched by days of ice and wind…

My looking mirror into the seasons of past…

A summer storm finds my love and I on cool board and quilt of down.  A secret place….

Autumn sunshine reaches long on cinnamon dust rays…exposing web and spider, the old letter and the broken chain of an old silver charm.

A Winters eve….the long awaited visitor returns collecting jeweled treasures of glass and wood.  Forgotten but not lost…for a tree will shine with all its glory under the dark attic.

The Dark Attic
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