Closing the Door On the Past
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It’s been many years since I’d climbed the wooden steps to my parent’s attic. The hinges of the trap door creak and a cloud of dust rises as I push the door open. I fumble for the light switch; it takes several minutes for the dust to settle and for my eyes to become accustomed to the gloom from the single bulb.
I survey the small space, which is packed to the hilt with hidden treasures. I sit cross-legged in a cramped corner and delve one of the many boxes.
relics of childhood
packed in old cardboard boxes
I find my old bear
My mother had carefully packed away many of my old toys and keepsakes from my schooldays and high days and holidays. Oh how I laughed when I read some of the comments on my school reports and workbooks, it made for very amusing reading! I get quite emotional when I sort through photograph albums and see the faces of those who are no longer with us.
cherished memories
as I leaf through the pages
I wipe away tears
After several hours reminiscing I’ve selected a couple of items, which were once so dear to me; and then I finally close the door on the past.
Picture 3
Photostory Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
11-15-17
Copyright © Jan Allison | Year Posted 2017
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