the cottage


I often think of
The cottage
With the quiet cove
Steps from the back door.
Expansive white walls
And a large rectangular window
In between
Facing a blue stretch of
Sky and bay.
Language filled pages
Of pebble-white sheets
The way the sun fills a wide undraped room
With its heat
And streams of falling light.
I wrote for hours here
-wishing I would never have to leave.
I walked in the cool
Unfuried waves
Feeling smooth irregular
Rocks under my feet.
The thin cotton
Of my skirt
And clinging to my legs
As the waves formed slow
Steady circles around my feet.

My children picked rocks from
The lake floor
Close to the mossy edge where swans gathered
At sunset.
The sun speckled rocks
Filled an old chestnut brown-glazed bowl
Along with
a few stray
long white
Fanned out swan feathers
The cottage
Was an ornate collection
Of words
And moments
By the bay
-a place of poetry

For me
And for my children
-a place of wonder
And innocence. J. Hamilton


One thought on “the cottage

  1. Pingback: the cottage | Le cose piu belle (the most beautiful things)

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