� in mortar we grow � 2006-12-01 � 9:17 p.m. �
I remember the house from my dreams...
Large and brick with big window frames chisled intricately at the top - very country... very old - chisled like a headboard... every angle smooth by an old man's thumb... delicately, proudly.
A porch stretched across the front, with creeky steps to the door... all painted in crisp cottage white... the easy way to liven wood that had seen 100 hundred years of hard work and weight.
I knew this house as we pulled up... I knew the moss that clung to the side of the damp red walls, I knew the gravel beneath my feet... I was at home... and I was happy to see the flowers in the window boxes greet me as I drew close.
This was my home... this was my porch... the wooden furniture and the canvas seat covers all belonged to me... I was happy with my good taste... happy in my comfort.
I turned to smile at my friend... a way to let her know she could leave... that he was home and I could get in... arms were waiting for me in the kitchen.
She flipped her fingers up at me in a half wave, the way she does when both her hands are at the top of her wheel... she smiled her biggest grin... and I could still hear her laughing softly at whatever it was were laughing about. I don't remember anything more before pulling in... seeing the house and walking to it... but she and I laugh a lot together... and we laugh after we've parted... Her eyes were small in smile and she kept her vehicle still as I got to the screen door.
I reached to pull it open with my bags in hand and my arms tired. It sprung at me before I had to tug.
He stood there in flesh, whole in form. He was smiling as if it was the first time he'd seen my face... smiling like a boy in a candy store... smiling with the same pride filling me....
He stepped out past me and stretched his view to get a better look at my friend. Turning to his left he pulled me tight into his body with is left arm, letting the spring door rest on my back...
He held me in... he held me close and I could feel the mist of his warm breath on my temple as his lips came close. He kissed my cheek firmly... and in the flavour of I could tell how much I was missed...
He took a breath and whispered...
"Tell her, Darling, this is not freedom."
I pulled back in confusion... I leaned back in near fear of what he said.
I looked at him with my brow low.... and he continued... with his fingers on my lips...
"Don't question me... She will understand, so please, tell her that is not freedom, by any means."
For whatever that means....
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