THE OLDEST HOUSE by Jan Lowing

(The assignment was to describe an object so the emotional state of the narrator (point of view/character) is revealed without telling the reader what the emotional state is or what motivated the "said" state.)

The oldest house in that little bush township was a squat bluestone cottage of primitive design built by craftsmen from the Old Country. It had observed the past hundred plus years through the two windows that peered out from under its low front verandah; I ducked under the apricot tree on the north east as I walked around to the back yard.

I had discovered the old mulberry tree the previous spring, and now parted the canopy and disappeared beneath it. The late afternoon sunlight filtered down through the large, lime green leaves. Low branches hid me from view and arched out to form a cave full of translucent light; black twisted twigs, partly obscured, held clusters of ripening fruit. Each bunch of berries varied in colour from pink, to red, to deep purple...they glowed in the sunlight like individual arrangements of precious jewels, but the couple of prized juicy, ripe black ones were the only ones to pick.
Very few went into the bowl I held.

Jan Lowing ©