My Quiet Place

The dented and faded floral couch sags gently underneath as I cross my legs and lean back comfortably.  I reach up my arm to turn on the lamp that has stood here since before my birth.
Bathed in gentle light, I silently slip my book off the end table, gently brushing my elbow against the black rotary phone.
The fire in the cast iron stove flickers gently, embers dampened until morning.
The steady ticking of the kitchen clock mixed with the small snores of children soothe me.
I am finally alone and at peace.  Only the crickets stir in the pitch dark night.


This post was written in response to this week's remembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. Where is your quiet place? What does it look like? What happens there?
I, of course, wrote again about reading at night in my cabin upstate.  There is nothing more calming, soothing, or fulfilling than practically anything I do in that house.  I just love it so much.

The Old Cabin

I inhale the crisp, clean mountain air.  As I touch the peeling paint on the old porch railing, the rotted wood groans and breaks.

I take a sharp breath as I windmill my arms to regain balance.  Smelling the moist decay, I tenderly test each step until I reach the door.

Pushing it open, stale air whooshes in my face.  Mice skitter across the floor, disturbed by my presence.  Old cheese crackers gray with age are strewn across the kitchen.

The broken army trunk lays on its side next to the crumbling brick fireplace.

I love the possibilities.

This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus.  The literary device to use this week is Sensory Details. Describe the image using five senses: perception, hearing, sight, touch, smell, and taste. WORD COUNT - Not to exceed 100 words. STYLE OF WRITING - Sensory Details Literary Device NO ADDITIONAL PICTURES 
THE PROMPT THIS WEEK IS:

The prompt photo reminded me of an old neglected house upstate that bordered our property.  On further investigation, I discovered it belonged to an old man who was dying of AIDS.  I called him because I loved his house.  We were in negotiations for me to buy it (I was 17 at the time and was going to use my college fund to pay for the property) when he died.  His daughter ended up selling the property to a group of 6 hunters who only come up a couple times a year.  I'm not a fan of hunting, and I still feel, 10 years later, that they stole my property.  I will find some way to own it one day.  That house calls to me.

A Panorama of Upstate

Since I got such positive feedback on my post about how much I love our house upstate, I thought I would post some pictures of what it looks like.  All the daytime views are what I can see while standing on the porch.  I took the night pictures standing in the yard by the fireplace.

I Love Upstate

Happiness flows through my veins as soon as I turn down that dirt road.  Gravel crunches under my car, sunlight streams through the canopy of trees overhead.  The air is crisp and fresh.  There is a coolness to it that is impossible to find unless you are at the top of the mountain.

The trees flanking the road change to pines on the left-my father planted all those pines with his father and brother years ago.  I maneuver the car down the short, steep, driveway, making sure to kept left and avoid the trees.

It feels like home as soon as I get out of the car.  The house borders the road and opens up to a huge meadow.  The knee high grass hides countless wild raspberries.  Wildflowers in all shades of red, orange, yellow, and purple dot the landscape.

The garden is full of potatoes and blueberries.  Blackberry vines snake around the compost heap.  The old stone fireplace stands like a relic from the past in the middle of the meadow.

I hear the stream trickling next to the woods.  The birds chirp in the trees.  Shots and the barks of faraway dogs echo across the mountains.  A mama black bear and her 3 cubs are visible down by the pond, foraging.

I love upstate.

The road to the house

This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood post from Write on Edge.
Good writing plants the reader’s feet into your story.  Good writing is also concise.  So when you’re trying to decide where to spend your words – where to use the most imagery and details and senses – I say setting is where its at.  This week, I want you to take me there. You have 200 words.
I knew I had to write about my house upstate.  I love everything about it.  As a child I spent my summers there.  The best memories I have of my Oma are there.  And I still go as often as I can with my kids in the hope that they will love it as much as I do.