Tower of Dreams

There is a lovely house that I pass by on my way home every evening.

Set close to the lane I travel on it was, up until about a year ago, fairly non-descript.

In fact, the much larger homes around it dwarfed the modest looking house. As it were, a poor step-child to the other mansions situated around the golf course and country club.

But one day I noticed some construction taking place near the front door. Day by day, week by week, a tall cylinder took shape.



And my puzzlement grew.

A cone was built on top, like a hat.


And my curiosity grew.

Finally, windows were cut in the cone, seemingly haphazardly. And a curved wooden door with black iron hinges.




And I shook my head in bewilderment.

Then came the whitewash.

And I saw it was a tower.

An artist arrived while I was toiling away at work one day.


And I was amazed.

The evening was still young when I saw the tower completed.

And I sighed in delight and wonderment.



A Tower of Dreams.

Raised on fairy tails, both dark and light, I immediately wondered if the talented father built this for his lovely young daughter, ill and in bed.

But being the mindful writer of this passer-by tale, I decided that it was obviously built by a talented father for his very young, and very fanciful daughter, whom he loved very much.

And I drove the rest of the way home with a sweet smile on my lips.

It was...

Finis






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad