Dreaming of Wildwood

Dreaming of Wildwood

There was a home 

where I was wed ...

A magical home when you

entered it's gates... 

Through rooms that voices still resonated

 from the family who loved it

so dearly

 but whom had to leave.

Where they grew up

with a family that filled each room.

With laughter and tears, 

hide and seek, running up and down

it's gilded stairs. 

To belong now to a family of two

that would fill it's rooms with the 

sound of jazz music, an organ and the

swirling sound of a water color brush

casting images of barns, 

ocean and beaches.

My parents nurtured it's

rebirth to splendor

in time for ...

My wedding to be,

 only months after they bought 

 their dream home, 

in the rear courtyard garden

amongst dear friends and family.

I slept there but only one night 

wondering who's room I might be 

dreaming in....

To gaze out the multi-paned 

rippled glass to see where I would

say my vows to my Love....

I threw my bouquet

of white roses and baby's breath

from the small balcony

above the massive front door.

I felt like Juliet looking down...

My dream come true that day.

This home my children played

and explored in, 

where the doors opened to soft breezes 

and the 

fountains mimicked their

sweet, high voices as they dipped 

there tiny toes in the pool below.

Where taking the narrow, hidden staircase

would lead to a secret room that

was the old wine cellar.  

Where slumber nights at Nana and Papa's 

house was a time of tea parties,

make believe with dolls 

and bubble baths in

 the huge old bathtub off the

room they slept in.

Eva

She who sleeps in beauty....

We were all entranced by her.

She was always there in the garden 

outside the courtyard. 

Through the old wood gate you 

opened on to her boudoir

where she napped unselfconsciously

in her nakedness

for us to admire and touch.

A story was told that one of the young sons

who played in this garden 

once painted her nipples green....

His father was not happy 

and the young boy washed

and rubbed the paint away

till Eva was pure once more.

He became a priest when he grew up.

My heart broke when

my parents sold Wildwood.

I had dreamed of my

daughters three

wedded in the gardens...

Now I can only pause as I

drive by to remember

in my mind the joyful days

spent here.

Eva...

She moved next door

to live in a new garden

where she is loved as

we loved her.

Wildwood's windows

are closed...

as though whoever lives

there now doesn't wish

her to live as she did.

Why?

Her gardens so overgrown

that the yard is shrouded

in bush and growth like

a Sleeping Beauty Castle.

The gazebo is gone...

where my daughters would 

play as they skipped

on the large round steps

that would lead to the 

rose garden their

Papa tended with care.

My heart is there...

 Some homes

always are joyful.

They are full of a spirit

that comes from the happiness

that happened there.

My heart is there...