glass houses

by Susan Loehe about a month ago in vintage

and feathers

glass houses

once, an old victorian greenhouse was tucked into a corner of a very old property, it's quaint domes and spires with slow melted glass curvy and throwing reflection in the torchlight.

an unusual arched wooden door, quite thick and warm with the veneer of sweet oils and a round stained glass window patterned of blue roses opens, beckoning entry.

the air sweet and fragrant, slightly moist, flowering frankincense and something of fruit and lemon, gently pervades the senses. far eastern carpets overlap underfoot, their patterns seemingly changing in the shifting light.

there are many mirrors inside, all with old gilt or wooden carved frames, hung with wire and turning with the earth. the interior is round and cathedral in it's initial sensing, the old forest outside turning both sun and moonlight into holy rays.

there are great soft couches and a lovely fireplace, satyr dancing in the iron design. the furniture is deep woods heavy and old easels stand with large canvases,all of them intricate works in progress strings rising woven upward from the frames, small shining treasures tucked in.

rooms divided by flowering vines, each an organic line in a music box full of old instruments.here, a spiral stair case leads to an observatory window, it's scopes directed both sea and skyward.

books upon books upon shelves, their ribbons and markers wave. stained glass reading lamps are as looming blooms over large deep chairs with soft blankets. there is much to smoke and know here.

outside there may be cauldrons and stone circles. caves along the beach within white cliff faces whisper memories of initiation. The skeletons of seagull wings build sculptures fashioned by tides and careful hands.

There is deep green forest land and field, the horses amble. ruins of star peeking castle hovers on distant hilltop. ghost riders on the stormy nights catallophing madly on the memory of their sweeping wild ride.

a canopied bed a velvet refuge of comforter and pillow calls. lighting a candle, we raise our small draught glasses of vision to our awakening, then settle into our flying dreams, wrapping ourselves in sleep and eachother.

vintage
Susan Loehe
Susan Loehe
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Susan Loehe
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