MANDERLEY

As I pass between the black iron gates,

and make my way down the winding drive,

I am overcome by a sense of comfort, familiarity.

The old oak trees curve over the drive,

creating a tunnel that leads to my home,

the home of my heart.

Continuing down the drive,

memories of my childhood,

come back to haunt me.

Playing out on the lawn,

with my brothers and sisters;

afternoon teas in the room

overlooking the courtyard.

I can taste it now -

hot scones with jam and cream!

Oh, how I long to relive

those days of freedom and joy.

I come out of the tunnel and stop.

Before is the old sandstone house,

set in luscious grounds of endless gardens.

There is a distinct smell of roses,

and although it is winter,

the sun is warm.

I go to the kitchen window,

and through it I see,

everything as it was,

nothing has changed.

A little dust maybe,

but although it is empty,

you would swear it was still lived in.

I turn, and cross to the grass,

the garden is overgrown,

but retains it's tranquil feel.

I lie in the long, green grass,

and dream of the time,

when we lived here together.

And it is then that I realise -

there is no place I'd rather be,

than the home of Manderley.

By Denita Johnson