The Home Made Card

If you go down that particular road, the one that’s just wide enough, and turn at the right place, you will see a stone cottage that’s probably two hundred years old.  No one really knows exactly how old it is, but they certainly don’t make houses like that any more.  The windows are tiny, but the door is solid, made from an ancient tree that once graced the spot the house now stands on.  The boulders the house is made of—you really can’t call them anything else—give the house a forever look, like it’s part of the earth.  And I suppose it is, if you think about it.  There is a candle in the window, safe in a hurricane lantern.  Its flicker  is magical behind the thick and swirly old glass of the windowpane.

Open the cottage door.  Go inside.

The handmade rugs that cover the uneven floor are gaily colored but unpatterned, made from garments someone less thrifty or less conscious of the power of personal history might  have thrown away.  You walk on a baby’s rompers, a dress shirt, a t-shirt softened by a dozen summers, a fragment of evening gown.  Somehow it all comes together.  Your feet register comfort—your eyes, a flow of time.

To one side of the entryway is a sitting area where a fire crackles in a fireplace, surrounded by groups of people.  Some are standing to talk, some sitting in comfortable chairs—some are playing board games you remember having enjoyed once, a long time ago.  As you look into the room, people you know wave at you, call your name.  Some sitting alone smile, and pat the sofa next to them.  The room is warm, peaceful despite the numbers of people, the chairs look inviting--but you decide to look around first.  “I’ll be back,” you call.

Turning away from the sitting room points you straight at the largest buffet table you’ve ever seen.  It looks to have been made from the twin of the cottage’s door.  Heavy and solid, balled feet resting in the floor’s stone hollows like the sure hooves of a destrier, the table is covered with food of every description.  Fruits glow like jewels, meat dishes plain and fancy exude amazing fragrances, vegetables you recognize (and many you don’t) are represented in their very best dress.  The staff of life is available in every incarnation.  Your mouth waters.  You reach almost reflexively for a plate, then realize that there’s no need to rush or gobble—there is plenty here. 

People approach the dining room and you can see that they are coming from a hallway lined with doors.  Some of them you know—some seem to know you.  One takes a plate, fills it as you watch—and presents it to you, smiling.  You open your mouth to say thank you, but it seems like too little and too much, all at the same time.  So you smile, and receive a smile in return.  The two of you head for the sitting area.

“I shouldn’t stay long, I should get home,” you think.  And then you realize—you are home.

My dear Gather friends-- 

What would I give you,

If I could?

A cozy house and a fire of wood--

Friends and family laughing near,

A quiet heart that’s shut out fear.

A table full of your favorite things

And dreams that shine like a fairy’s wings.

If dreams have power—

and I know they do!—

That’s what the coming year

Will bring you. 

Wishing you all the best,

Lydia O.