The house was made from wood from the floor to the ceiling, and was filled with wooden furniture. Slowly it began to look like my home, as pictures found their places on the walls; books, nicknacks and the cat all found where they ought to go.
But aside from myself and the cat, not a soul came up the stairs to sit long in the house. A new friend from church came briefly, as well as co-workers, the landlord, and some internet technicians. None returned and I spent my days at home quietly working at my studies.
For a few months I had a housekeeper living in one of the rooms, but she was unhappy, and left. I began to think I ought to get down into the garden and do something about the thistle, which must surely have grown back.
No comments:
Post a Comment