That Moment in the Attic

She already lost herself in her favourite fantasy book 

When a ray of halcyon midday sun poured itself through that dilapidated attic window like a spilled gold paint on an artist old canvas

She was wearing her pink silk puffy dress which gleamed with light,

Warily put aside her book and gazed through that little glass window,

When the sun gave her its gentle touch on her freckled skin, 

Her cheeks bloomed like that one flower in a winter morning

Felt the softness of the light gently warming her demure vintage soul.

She found her lacuna in that pure serendipity she used to read in her old English books.

That attic was her latibule to sought solace for her soul every afternoon when downstairs her mother used to have her high class tea parties

Like an old wine

The selcouth beauty of that old attic thrived from that moment.