An Ode to My Grandmother’s House

The castle was nestled deep within the woods, only a small path cleared by trodden feet to lead the way. Yarrow, daisies, and small unidentifiable pink flowers decorated the thick forest grass. Skinny trunks grew up and across the skyline, twining with one another. There were white birches still slick with morning dew. The whole place smelled of rain, the comforting aroma of horses, and the cleanliness one would only find a few days' walk away from the city. 

It was a tiny thing, the castle, and the lords of it must replace pride with humility. Vines weaved around the outer walls and towers, decorated with more minuscule flowers. The castle was built from thick-cut and uneven stone, sloppily placed, or slowly falling apart from years of strain. From beyond the castle, one could hear how the crisp breeze danced its way through the thick of the trees and out across the clearing where the horses ran and played. Just beneath the crest of the hill the castle was built upon lay a thin river. Small stones jutted up intercepting the wave's path and causing the brownish water to jut into small streams of white. 

It was all very simple. They allowed nature to grow alongside and into their homestead. Such was the way of those who worshiped the old Gods. She was certain that if ever she felt a God's presence it was here. 

Here, where the abundant sound of nature overwhelmed her with emotion and made her want to cry. To sink to the fertile soil in reverence. This was the kind of place where one may forget the toils of the Kingdom it resided in—the place where she could be fat and lazy and absolutely nothing.

All down the river hill ferns, berry bushes, and blushing flowers grew making it nearly impossible to walk. A clearing in the trees to the left showed a well-trodden path that must wind its way down to the river's edge. She listened to the sound of the river, noticing the white-tailed deer and her two fawns across the way drinking cautiously. A large bird swooped down to try its luck at catching a fish, and the sound of the river echoed along the overgrown walls of the valley, practically singing to her. 

She thought it’d be rather easy to stay here forever. To survive on only berries and fish, and drink the water from the river. She could lay down on the plush grass and watch the horses until she fell asleep. Perhaps she would spend her days here reading whilst looking over the river hill and weaving crowns of daisies. She would listen to birdsong, the chimes of insects, hooves clunking with the earth, and the laughter of children as she sunbathed. 

It was a lovely dream. An idea which sat in her heart, growing like the many vines, and caused her body to ache with the desire, the need to stay. What she wouldn’t give to remain here and watch the plump clouds float by. 

A short story by Jaden Rudd

Edited by Maya Kayyal

Strike Out,

Saint Augustine