Everything is golden when viewed from within the glass vase that sits on top of the very top shelf.
Golden, but not. Quite. Right.
Wavy. Skewed. Like the funhouse mirrors at the county fair.
On special occasions, the vase holds water, sharp thorns, rotting greens and, after a while, a film of white mold that eventually dries up and clings to the yellow glass, marring its perfection.
Most of the time the vase is empty. Dusty.
A spider climbed in once. Just to see what life was like behind the golden glass. But the carnival view hurt his bug eyes and he abruptly left, seeking the warm and greasy comfort of the dust balls behind the refrigerator.
Still. Occasionally. The vase is pulled down from the very top of the top shelf and lovingly washed, filled with fresh water and dewy pink roses, and positioned in a place of pride.
On the top shelf a round stain waits.
Question of the Day: What waits at your house? And why?
Lovely post! I love the spider "the carnival view hurt his bug eyes".
ReplyDeleteWhat waits at my house and why?
Everything. Everything at my house waits for me to listen, to love, to take care, to notice, to ignore, to put off, to put on, to enjoy, to dismiss and to be there. Why? Because I'm the queen of my universe.
What waits at my house? Light fixtures. Why? I am not allowed to mess with electricity when I am hoem alone... or use power tools.
ReplyDeleteI am pretty sure you know the answer to this question. Painting. painting and more painting. and when that painting is done I have more to do in our part of this house. the parts of the living room do over that never got done. The vestibule, the door and all the trim between there and then into the dining room I have nightmares about it. But right now I am off to bed. I feel like crap, flu maybe? aches... big aches, head ache just downright crappy feeling. I wanted to stay in bed today but couldn't after scheduling all those appointments. Now I have liberally peppered the town of Huntsville with whatever germs have been breeding in my body. And the painting waits for me to feel better.
ReplyDeleteTotally understandable, Spanky. I heard you trashed the Deere.
ReplyDeleteJust say no to painting, Opto-girl.
ReplyDeleteI bow to you, Queen CJ, Mistress of the Heating Pad.
ReplyDelete