And here is the story of The Little Yellow House, from my Dear Cousin Maggie, of the wonderful words, the sweet, sweet spirit, the exquisite garden, and the lovely, lovely life.
A rosemary bed interspersed with basil, lavender and multicolored zinnias lines the porch front. We watch the sunrise and smell the scent of fresh baked scones bursting with blueberries to be painted with cream and sugar and eaten with cheese scribbled with honey, and some sun-kissed figs. We sit sipping coffee and telling our stories.
I will bike to the town square and open my little bookstore and knitting shop around midmorning. The sitting and chatting and loving each other is the first and most important part of our days.
The old worn stone pathway leads from the back door to the
kitchen garden where we gather hands full of herbs, baby field greens, yellow and orange tomatoes, tiny carrots, and pencil thin asparagus for shared meals.
The fresh laundered cloth gives off a faint lavender perfume as it is spread atop the farm table. A vase of old garden roses sits amongst the just lit candles. The room is filled with the laughter of friends and kinfolk and little ones, and all will be blessed. And all will be blessed.
We will sit on the porch in the evening and watch the rosy leavings of the sun. This pink-washed peace is for all of us. How I wish I could give away a piece of these days like loafs of warm bread.
As the day draws to a close, we kneel together and bow in adoration with thanksgiving, praying---O Lord, support us all the day long, until the shadows lengthen, and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed. Then in Thy mercy, grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest. Amen.
Always together at last light, we will hold hands and hug and grow young together in this place.