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floating-house

I felt it before I felt it. The house was no longer a home but rather a dilapidated box of warped wood and memories. It reminded me though of myself in some ways. It felt good to grey gracefully and not be admired for beauty but for the stamina I possessed. The house was left to age in peace and with dignity – I would like that.

Each person who drove down the road commented. “What a great house that used to be.”

I wanted to yell back. “It is still a great house. It is the same house as it always had been just weather worn and greyer now.”  But I didn’t. I put the lights on, dusted the woodwork, scrubbed the wood floors until then shone. Lit the fire place, went through my studio, glanced at my past and let it go.

The storm though unexpected was welcome.

Being transported gave me hope of meeting those lovely characters. I already knew the story. Like everyone, the Scarecrow was my favourite. In life and on film he didn’t vary. How delightful he was to me. What a change from the every day drudgery.

Skipping in red shoes had me laughing.

How much fantasy is realistic?

The house came back down with a thump reminding me to clean up my studio again as now I lived by the river of dreams.

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As usual, I thank Kellie for taking me to a place I don’t normally go.

Free Write Friday hosted by Kellie Elmore

It truly does present a challenge because of the instructions to free write and not edit, not even a spelling or punctuation error. It’s a great way to find your own way and test the courage in your soul.

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