Now of the whole. It’s a 6.

Funny, she didn’t remember driving here….but here she was, having walked the only clear path to the entrance of the lakeside cottage, her frigid winter breaths staccato beats on the peeling red of the front door (she knew no one would answer), she trembled slightly turning the unlocked door handle.

Grey, weathered, mirror image of her self, the cedar board structure had become more hillside, less lakeside, settling and bending under the weight of time, life’s toll exacted, the surrounding trees pillowed and supported it, much like the curve of a mother’s arms protecting her frightened child.

Memories burst through the front door along side her and flooded the great room with nostalgia thicker than the years of accumulated dust that clung to the furniture covers, clouding her eyes even more than the recently diagnosed glaucoma; yet she felt as if her vision had never been clearer than…