The House Down the Road

A tad over three blocks down Merion Lane on the left is, an idyllic Cape Cod. I must've passed it a thousand times my own picturesque, perfect, postcard place couched in the right light, dappling rays fresh-painted, white fence, ruby red front door. Never once did I not try looking in, a golden kickplate, bright brass knocker ring. Begging to be seen, this family within lotsa plain pane windows, no blinds, no sheers. There it still stands proudly these many years. In deep snows that had filled front walkways in warming, romantic, radiated, lustrous light hearth hues burst through the panes beyond the glass. One spring, I saw a fine fetching lass run across this closely manicured front lawn with her bouncing blonde, long locks, glowing gleefully. I mused as I passed by half-staring; we'd marry maybe, wishful pairing! And have a dreamy storybook Cape Cod too. That fall, our family moved far away. But was I not to see her, who's to say? Still, I remember that house, that dream I might've married her, my crazy scheme. Last night it snowed. Drove that road again. Five years later, that same house was still there. On the outside, the front door now lime green. Inside, a fire burns brilliant like before. I saw this striking blonde while I gawked. Startled, the green door opens, she walked across the snowy street, without her coat. Poised, she stood there and said straight to me, "Aren't you the boy who used to stare?", through my window I gush, "Why yes, I am." She said she'd wondered about me, even though they'd never known my name. Star-crossed, my illusion had dreamt back! Those private affections landed somehow: illusions can come true, they often do. Left my car, took her hand, then went inside; over a cozy cocoa we chatted. No longer a star from afar - so near. New worlds would now open for us right here. Lost love came home to the house down the road. Written 2/19/21