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Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Doves and Old Lace

 
 White doves and  old lace were not for you.  Your doves were
 
 grey and soft brown.  Found broken under a window
 
 
 
  and brought  to you.  They lived in a
 
box with a threadbare towel thrown over  as a lid. 
 
 
 
 
Then one day the box began spending afternoons on the porch .
  You sat nearby , tea cup at hand.
 
 
 
Eyes on your Zane Grey, the only sound the soft flick of a turned page. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Every afternoon until one day with a flutter of wings the Injured Party flew to join it's cooing friends picking cracked corn out on the long  gravel drive.
 
 
 
You were not a delicate teacup  grandmother.
 
 
 
 
 You  preferred
 
sunflowers and zinnias, to more delicate blooms. 
 
 
 
 And watching dust motes in a sun beam to the sparkle of  exquisite crystal. 
 
 
 
 
 A pinch of salt and box of Old Bay  all the cooking spice you ever needed
 
 
 
I play with pretty things. Arrange and rearrange tea cups and lace. 
 
 
 
 
 I sit among my found vintage  finery like a child playing make believe.
 
 
 
Like the child I was at your feet. Your little magpie picking through shiny objects. I take glitter and glue and turn scraps into pretty baubles. 

 
 
  And houses like the ones we made from boxes and paper grocery sacks. We made villages of houses. A story for each. I laid them out around your chair. I would still lay the world at your feet.


Spring is coming, and I am suddenly impatient to box up the Pink, the Frills, and get my hands in the soil.




web image*



 I step out side with a scoop of cracked corn in hand and listen for the coo of doves.




Please join me at some of the Best Parties Ever.


Teacup Tuesday @ Artful Affirmations


 Tea time Tuesday @ Rose Chintz Cottage 
 
 
 

 Share Your Cup Thursday @ Have a Daily Cup of Mrs. Olsen 
 
 
 

* I saved this template last year and now can't find it online to provide a link back. My apologies.