The Cabin Upon The Hill
The cabin was soaked in the subtle stench of sea salt, but when the broad windows sitting on the back wall were opened, the salt was masked by the rich smell of oak trees standing tall some 20 feet from the building. From the side of the French Armoire which he was slanting against, drinking, as always, a decanter of port, Lucas Marx studied the startling blues and purples of the blossoming flowers that rustled gently in the light evening breeze, and, moving his eyes, followed the flowers, until he caught the bright orange glare the sun cast over the treetops.
