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| Photo by Oleksandra Petrova on Unsplash |
Vintage Years
By Marilyn R Wilson
In an ancient, well hidden village.
Tucked in the fold of old hills,
Up an unnamed narrow lane
Was a rarely visited, unusual shop.
From the outside it looked worn.
Definitely past it's best by date.
Paint was peeling like bad sunburn
Off the scarred wooden door.
The sign a hand written scrawl,
Almost illegible, it declared.
Open. Used curiosities await.
How could I resist the siren call?
Inside there were the usual racks,
But the garments hanging offered a twist.
As I touched each well worn piece
A vision of of their past life arose.
Weddings, birthdays, celebrations,
Funerals, births, and travels.
Laughter and tears, joys and sorrows,
All played out in my mind.
Moving deeper into the shop
Passing toys and housewares
Begging to share their own story.
Searching for what had drawn me in.
In the far back was a dimly lit rack.
On it was displayed an off kilter sign
In large block letters it declared
For Sale - Vintage Years.
Instead of memories, the items displayed
Offered, at a touch, visions of the possible.
What could my vintage years look like.
What treasures could they offer.
Slowly I moved from one item to the next,
Holding each future memory with great care.
Each vision unfolded a beautiful direction
Full of excitement and inspiration.
Then it happened without warning.
I touched THE piece I was meant to find.
This was the future I had been looking for.
A vintage year vision full of my dreams.
I left the store cradling my purchase
Clutching it tightly to my beating heart.
And while I walked away from the old store,
I embraced the joy of where I was heading.
My vintage years awaited.
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