Abby’s Attic Adventures
An autumn of rusty coloured falling leaves made a particularly poignant day for a walk down memory lane. The fall scenery was breath taking, her favourite season, and Abigail’s mind flashed back to a moment long ago when crunching through the crackling leaves in Grandma’s attic. Chuckling under a wispy breath, this moment seemed like yesterday.
Abby’s memories still dwelled within the house, and she had the desire to step out of the taxi and walk boldly up to the front door, yearning to turn the doorknob of the most important room in the house, the attic. The home had belonged to her Grandma Tremane, seventy-five years before, and then fifteen years later her own family of four had lived there. Glancing up to the rooftop of the house she eyed the trap door leading to the attic, still there, still beckoning.
Painfully slow movements took effort when stepping out of the cab. Abigail planted unstable feet carefully down onto the pavement in front of the antiquated property. With the aid of a cane she stood proudly erect. A late afternoon breeze briskly danced autumn leaves around aged ankles, tickling thin skin as she feebly walked up the pathway that led to the front entrance. Arthritic fingers secured a woolen scarf around a slim neck, fighting back the chill from an approaching dusk.
Abigail longed to explore the interior, to feel the past, to revisit a vanished childhood. Since experiencing unique and thrilling attic adventures long ago, Abby had undergone lifetime changes. Still able to recall all the events that led to a present existence, she welcomed and cherished each memory, validating the person she is, a contented elderly lady, happy to be sharing pearls of wisdom with offspring and grandchildren.
Mustering strength, courageously, weary limbs managed to climb the rickety, splintered porch steps. Despite declining frailty, the porch creaked with the light weight upon it. With frail knuckles, Abigail knocked lightly against the weathered wood of the front door.