One does have to shake the Ya-Ya's out...
I'm standing underneath a tree. Blossoms are falling. I think this is a peach tree, except this may be further south, or perhaps, England, different, but I see the tree, the sunlight and the leaves falling, to preoccupied with the seasons.
I am in the attic. I am rising from the coffin bed, oh interesting, that, a green light, the curtains wafting in a slow breeze, I am stirring up the dust as I glide across the room.
“Wake up girl,” he shakes her slaps her face, gently, anything to get her back she shakes her head and laughs, “sorry mate, that was a rum go.”
“where did you go, don't know, I reckon it was
somewhere west from here, no east.”
“Let’s leave the house,” she then said, and picked up her skirt, by the hem to run across the lawn, her high boots fit her feet quite nicely which makes running easy, he wasn't sure if she was playing, or in dead earnest, they finally sat down on that bench, and she threw stones into the water, trying to see if the frogs would respond,
“You don't want to scare them,” he chided,
“Dinna werry,” she murmured, and dropped the stones to the ground, folding her hands in her lap, she watched the water ripple, he tried to take one of her hands but she would not let him.
“You are cruel mistress, Carol,” he said, but
she shook her head, “I'm a lamb,” she said. “I just don't want to be here.”
There is the sound of a horse moving down the road. She sits up, stands and runs to the carriage, “Father,” she murmured, swinging up to the side of the wagon. “Take me with you.”