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Ottoman
Dusty musty air hit me as I open the attic door. Turning on small torch, I pause whilst my eyes gently get acclimatised to the dim light. Brushing away the long cobwebs which hang from the low ceiling, I cautiously make my way to the back of the attic. In a dark corner I find Granny’s old ottoman, its pink damask silk top is now worn and faded. Carefully I begin to raise the lid, its hinges creak like granny’s arthritic knees. I gently lift out her silk wedding dress which, as a child, I’d help granny wrap in layers of crinkly tissue paper. She had always promised I will wear it one day, and as she’s a gifted seamstress I know it will fit perfectly on my June wedding day.
family heirloom
I’ll wear on my wedding day
precious memories
Copyright ©
Jan Allison
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