I wrote this for Eat, Sleep, Write - Monday Master Class Prompt: Cabin of Illusion
Her favorite memories were of summer vacations when her family went to Grandma’s cabin in the woods of the upper Adirondacks. She loved hiking along the pristine lakes and ponds and listening to the forlorn call of the loons as an early dusk, forced by quickly falling shadows of the surrounding peaks, settled in around her. Makoce and Monhegan begged endless games, throwing balls, swimming under the waterfalls, and running, their favorite. Visiting friends were always good for a cut-throat game of Old Maid in the evening too.
Here she was now, having returned many years ago, and unable to leave, not that she would want to, for she could not imagine anything calling so insistently as to take her away. Every day was delightfully the same, but different.
This morning she had fresh eggs and a few slices of toast from yesterday’s bread. The eggs came from . . . why come to think of it she didn’t quite know where they came from. But there they were, four lovely brown eggs nestled in a grass filled, grey cardboard box, just to the right of her door.
She had made a cup of earl grey and stepped out onto the porch to catch the leading edge of undulating pink waves as the sun climbed up behind the Great Range. The cool morning air blew smoke signals from her cup as the tea cooled, and she sipped gingerly, waiting until the sun made its grand appearance from behind Upper Wolfjaw Mountain, grandly bestowing a crown of orange-red rays on the peak. The cabin sat at the western edge of a crescent shaped meadow in the shadow of the Peak, and she had the perfect seat for this morning spectacle.
The show was over and she had just been thinking how nice it would be to have some eggs for breakfast today, when she glanced down as she opened the screen door, and there they were as expected. What a lovely little omelet they had made, flavored with some wild onions in a bit of butter made with fresh cream from the cow. She looked up, expecting to see her grazing in the field, but no, she must have wandered off to . . . .
No matter, the omelet was delicious, scrumptious even. She liked that word, scrumptious. It even tasted like it sounded, in fact you had to close your eyes, wrinkle up your nose and purse your lips just to say it. Delightful!
As she sat rocking in the cooling evening, she drew the colorful shawl a little tighter around her shoulders and thought about all the nice things she had done today. First there was the hike to the alpine meadow to see the tiny ivory flowers. She would have liked to pick a bouquet, but worried the plants would be sad away from their friends, so she pulled out her sketch pad, and when she got home propped it up next to a blue vase to enjoy with her supper.
Minsi was always careful that way, to not intrude on the magic of her surroundings, knowing they would not intrude on her peace as well.
She had knit several inches on the woolen blanket for the next winter. She did so love the winters here, cuddled up next to the fireplace, Monhegan and Makoce snoring lightly on the braided rug at her feet, a pot of soup simmering on the stove. Her favorite smell - onions, a potato, some herbs from the meadow, which had dried on the beams overhead, sometimes a carrot if she had them. Winters were simply wonderful!
But winter was a long time from now and her mind turned to the evening’s entertainment. Ah, there they came! Minsi smiled as the lights danced closer and closer, and the sound of tinkling chimes drifted across the grass, taking the forms of her childhood friends. She opened the door wide and waved them inside the cabin, called by her grandmother, Lupe’s Lodge.
Here she was now, having returned many years ago, and unable to leave, not that she would want to, for she could not imagine anything calling so insistently as to take her away. Every day was delightfully the same, but different.
This morning she had fresh eggs and a few slices of toast from yesterday’s bread. The eggs came from . . . why come to think of it she didn’t quite know where they came from. But there they were, four lovely brown eggs nestled in a grass filled, grey cardboard box, just to the right of her door.
She had made a cup of earl grey and stepped out onto the porch to catch the leading edge of undulating pink waves as the sun climbed up behind the Great Range. The cool morning air blew smoke signals from her cup as the tea cooled, and she sipped gingerly, waiting until the sun made its grand appearance from behind Upper Wolfjaw Mountain, grandly bestowing a crown of orange-red rays on the peak. The cabin sat at the western edge of a crescent shaped meadow in the shadow of the Peak, and she had the perfect seat for this morning spectacle.
The show was over and she had just been thinking how nice it would be to have some eggs for breakfast today, when she glanced down as she opened the screen door, and there they were as expected. What a lovely little omelet they had made, flavored with some wild onions in a bit of butter made with fresh cream from the cow. She looked up, expecting to see her grazing in the field, but no, she must have wandered off to . . . .
No matter, the omelet was delicious, scrumptious even. She liked that word, scrumptious. It even tasted like it sounded, in fact you had to close your eyes, wrinkle up your nose and purse your lips just to say it. Delightful!
As she sat rocking in the cooling evening, she drew the colorful shawl a little tighter around her shoulders and thought about all the nice things she had done today. First there was the hike to the alpine meadow to see the tiny ivory flowers. She would have liked to pick a bouquet, but worried the plants would be sad away from their friends, so she pulled out her sketch pad, and when she got home propped it up next to a blue vase to enjoy with her supper.
Minsi was always careful that way, to not intrude on the magic of her surroundings, knowing they would not intrude on her peace as well.
She had knit several inches on the woolen blanket for the next winter. She did so love the winters here, cuddled up next to the fireplace, Monhegan and Makoce snoring lightly on the braided rug at her feet, a pot of soup simmering on the stove. Her favorite smell - onions, a potato, some herbs from the meadow, which had dried on the beams overhead, sometimes a carrot if she had them. Winters were simply wonderful!
But winter was a long time from now and her mind turned to the evening’s entertainment. Ah, there they came! Minsi smiled as the lights danced closer and closer, and the sound of tinkling chimes drifted across the grass, taking the forms of her childhood friends. She opened the door wide and waved them inside the cabin, called by her grandmother, Lupe’s Lodge.