Jane visits the farm part 3



The impressive driveway leading to the house was dotted to the left and right with stately eucalyptus trees. Jane was a tree hugger par excellence and loved the way in which wind rustled through leaves creating a sea like ambience. Peace became a tangible thing as it nestled comfortably within her body.


The peach house with its green roof had been standing for more than a hundred years. It had extra rooms added on in a higgledy, piggleldy, unplanned fashion. Each and every renovation was built with different materials onto the existing structure which made the overall impression a slightly chaotic, insane one. Jane felt queasy just looking a t it. She felt as though she had fallen down the rabbit hole and had ended up in a universe that belonged to the Mad Hatter. Inside the kitchen sinks had been placed in front of a window which looked out over a natural spring that overflowed into a pond. Willow trees lazily branched out over the rippling surface; reflecting glorious greens. Sunlight dappled on the water. Rolling valleys and hills completed the picture. It was obvious that a woman had had at least some input regarding the design and layout of the house. What could be more pleasant than having a view to look at when doing the washing up for the umpteenth time? Sunset and sunrise was always a good time to make an excuse to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen, as the views were like something belonging to a fairy tale. The sun shining through the leaves of the willow tree reflected glorious hues of rich orange and warm pink on the water’s surface while ducks swam lazily in ever expanding circles. The final sunrays stretched beyond the pond and spilled onto the lawn and fields. They touched Jane’s soul, whispering softly of a grand love, which would shine onto the earth, passionately living with every breath of its being and every inch of its vast and glorious imagination.

 The house had an air of contentedness; clear air with no obstructions, simplicity, innocence and love in its simplest form- a validation of worth for its inhabitants. Jane could be herself here and the world would not disintegrate; it would remain uncompromisingly whole.


As is common in farm houses, the floors were all solid wood. They creaked mercilessly, no that scary, look over your shoulder kind of creak, but the comforting creak that spoke of age and the quiet peace of days spent waiting for nature to take its course. They were however, problematic when Jane had to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Of course the bathroom simply had to be at the very end of the hallway. Each gingerly taken step would ring through the house at a volume that would surely raise the dead, not to mention some not quite so dead zombies. It took forever to get to the bathroom as each step was taken carefully and cautiously. It certainly gave Jane’s bladder muscles a work out and when she finally reached the bathroom she was an angry shade of red and ready to pop.



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