Shadow's Rest

When the sun is balanced on the shoulders of the hills, and the sky is painted with a multitude of brilliant colors, the mighty Oak in the middle of the village green casts a long shadow, stretching to its fullest before brushing across my threshold. This shadow is the very reason I named my cottage, Shadow's Rest. I make a point, every day, to stand inside my front door to watch the shadow slowly move before me. I imagine that the oak is saying “Goodnight, once again, my friend”.

Sunset is the perfect time to walk in my garden and gaze on my home. The moment the oak’s shadow reaches me, I step down its grey path to the edge of my garden, bordered by stones covered in orange and green moss. Savoring my anticipation, I slowly turn around, and once again experience complete wonder and pride.

A homey A-framed cottage stands before me. A black slate roof hugs the house comfortingly. With an inviting wink, my diamond-paned glass windows flash with the last of the sunlight, warming the cold, dove-grey stone from which my house is built. Wisteria climbs the stone walls and frames my arched windows, sweetly scented flowers clustered like grapes, wave in the breeze. A cheerful red door is open, letting golden light pour out from the house, beckoning me to enter.

On the left, bordering my garden bubbles a merry little brook. Day and night, it fills the air with its laughing music. Next to the creek, an ancient willow grows, leaning heavily over the water, dangling its branches over the surface. The breeze makes that old willow dance and whistle brightly.

Between the willow and my walk lays an unruly and seemingly wild garden. Buttercups, bluebells and fireweed tangle with snowdrops, daisies, and sunflowers. Seasons don’t seem to matter here, and every flower raises its head proudly through the year.

On the right, a tall majestic redwood pine guards my cottage. His great gnarled branches stretch in a protective gesture over my garden and home. His deep red bark contrasts attractively against the grey stone walls and black slate roof. A thick blanket of needles warms his roots. Emerald grass pokes up bravely around the edges of the needles and then spreads in a velvety blanket across the rest of the yard.

Whispering a cheerful goodnight to my garden and tree guardians, I enter my home, leaving the door open to let in the cool twilight.

Walking into the living room, my shoes click on the hardwood floor that is laid throughout the house. I am standing in a large rectangular room that takes the bottom half of the floor plan.

To the right of me, a river stone fireplace dominates the wall. A large slate mantle displays some photographs of my family, and my most beloved books. On either side of the fireplace, built in oak book cases line the wall to my shoulders, and pretty arched windows with diamond panes perch above them. Cozy, overstuffed, slightly-worn chintz covered chairs and couches are placed invitingly around the room.

A small round table made of cherry wood, stands between the two chairs closest to the fire place. On the table sits the cup of Earl Grey tea that I had made just a bit ago, sending up curls of steam, and a dog eared copy of Whitman's poems lies open; a fabric book marker spread across the pages, marks my place. I move around the room, switching on the tall torch lamps which fill the room with golden amber light.

Smiling, I pass through the dining area on my left. A cherry wood dining room table and chairs set apart the area. The table shines with countless polishing and smells pleasantly of beeswax and lemons. A built in china cabinet is nestled beneath the stairs leading to the second floor.

My eyes fall on the large stained glass window above the foot of the stairs. Every day it dresses the room in jewels of light. I never fail to remember when Dad put that window in. He was so proud of his handy work. He always said that a stained glass window never fails to fill your spirit with color as well as your location. I smile crookedly as I pass into the kitchen, thinking how much I miss him.

From there, a door leads off into a pleasant kitchen. Oak cabinets line the walls around the kitchen from the waist down, and are covered with a granite counter that has mica flecks that sparkle in the sunlight. In the back of the room is a pantry, stocked with all manner of food and baked goods. The shelves near the door proudly bear my everyday china, mixing bowls, baking dishes, and pots and pans.

I chuckle as I stand before the deep, porcelain sink, washing my hands. Mother insisted Dad put the sink below the window, even though he had to completely reroute the plumbing to do so. And I have to admit, she was right. A large beautiful diamond paned window looks out over the brook that flows along my property, helping even the dreaded chore of washing dishes to become a pleasure. I look around for a towel, and remembering they are still in the dryer; I head to the bathroom to dry my hands.

A door in the kitchen leads into my old bedroom. The room is made in all shades of white. A deep gable window is against the far wall, open to allow the breeze to flow in, scented with lilacs. A wide window seat lies beneath it, graced with fluffy cushions and pillows. I spent hours of my youth curled up on that seat, reading book after book.

A small bed, dressed in white quilts and pillows sits on the far wall. Leaning against the wall near the door into the kitchen is a large white dresser, topped with a large framed oval mirror. I walk through the door, near the foot of the bed, which leads into a small but neatly appointed bathroom. Quickly drying my hands, I go through the second door in the bathroom which opens into the living room.

Back in the living room, I tuck the book of poems under my arm and pick up my cup of tea, sipping at it as I make my way up the stairs. Nestled beneath the A-line roof is a large bedroom that used to belong to my parents. Against the wall, beneath the high point of the room, lays a large cherry-wood sleigh bed. It is covered with white down comforters and promises a delightful night's sleep.

Two gable windows facing west allow light to pour into the room, and provide some extra headroom beneath the slanted walls. In one of these little alcoves sits a comfortable leather chair and a wood side stand, topped with a stained glass lamp. Against the wall near the head of the stairs leans an ancient cherry-wood wardrobe. And, on the other side of that is the door leading into the master bathroom.

Sighing, I kick off my shoes and curl up in the leather chair. I begin the tradition I have followed ever since I was a little girl, curled up on my Father’s lap, and listening to my Mother’s voice reading poetry. Gently, I lay my book on the table, and switch off the lamp. Sipping my tea, I relax in my chair and look through the window, into the black sky and watch the stars come out, one by one.