Background: The prompt from Sue, Thursday Photo Prompt. I’d recognise that clock tower anywhere so know this is one of my fave places in this world. Portmeirion always engages my creative soul so this feels like an invitation to let the creative juices flow so I have opted not to restrict my write to poetics, instead a bit of flash fiction.
It seemed like a life time ago since I had made my way down the wonky lane to the little pink house looking out across the bay. Each step felt like a step into the past going further back in time. I looked up to the clock tower and wondered if that too was stuck in 1930 something.
Standing outside the pink house, I was pretty sure that was still in the 1930’s and I was ready to wager going inside would be a mingle of Art Deco wrapped in surrealistic imaginings. Part of me just didn’t want to go in, it had been too long. However, this was my inheritance, a gift from my great aunt, and soon to be my home.
To delay the inevitable I sat under the shade of the trees. My great aunt, Dorothy, or as we called her, Dottie. Dottie as a fruit cake, for sure, a real blast from the past. I had last seen her in the 1980s as I was growing into an adult. We had sat taking afternoon tea in the sunshine, escaping the old dusty smell of years. Life had taking me all over the world since then.
I got up, straightening my jeans, and took the keys from my pocket. I think I was trembling as I slipped one into the lock and let the door swing open. The musty old air hit me. Pulling my thoughts together, I stepped inside. Opening the windows would soon freshen things up. I walked into the parlour, drawing back the old curtains and opened the window. Turning around I saw Dottie’s old chair and the pile of postcards on her little table. My writing saying hello from various places. She had kept them all.
I stepped through the kitchen, opening the door on to the veranda as Dottie called it, more like a wee balcony with room for a small table and a couple of metal Art Deco chairs. I sat down and looked out across the bay and time stood still. Nothing had changed, and why should it. Some places need to be still, a refuge from the hustle, even. All that was missing was tea.