A place

On arrival I was dumped at the gate

I walked up a gravel drive leading to the house with two doors,

one in front  and one to my left

Which to choose?

I chose the door in front of me.

The sound of women’s voices greeted me

The sight of a wall covered in every kind and colour of hats

I wanted to explore.

There was also the sound of clinking glasses and the smell of cooking.

My hostess for the week welcomed me and I was allocated a room in the

House called The Post card Room

I lost no time in letting my American hostess know how pleased  I was,

Having stayed in a B&B the previous year.

During dinner I discovered we were a house of women.

As the week unfolded, after work hours in the den and kitchen we

Indulged in girly chats and sharing of the lives we left behind.

We were insulated.

We were children again, eating, sleeping, Going on outings,

Being nurtured.

The house held the secrets and dreams of the people there before us and

Those to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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