Again, a little writing exercise, this one about a dream come true.
By the Light of the Silvery Moon
The cozy green bungalow was all she had ever wished for, with scalloped eaves, red and yellow tulips, and a tiny lawn, all bordered by a white picket fence. Oh, and there was a garden decoration showing the backside of a plump woman bent over and planting flowers—yes, she had wanted that too.
Wasn’t it lovely, then, that her dear father had left her a little something on his sudden passing. Hardly a fortune, but enough to pay for utilities and groceries, a monthly movie, and an occasional girl’s night out. She was proud, however, that she had found this dream home completely on her own.
Red lettering on the front door proclaimed “Welcome,” and “Home is where the heart is,” with a red heart ensconced in the middle. For now, she let herself in the front door and inhaled the scent of the rosebud and gardenia sachets she had left previously to overcome a disagreeable odor. A tiny living room held a doily-covered loveseat, daintily draped windows, and don’t you know, an old Victrola record machine.
She stepped into the even tinier kitchen, where she heated up water for jasmine tea. Dropping a cube of sugar into a dainty china cup, she said,
“Would you care for tea, Arnold, dear?”
The offer stemmed from pure politeness, as she knew that the house╒s previous occupant never replied. She poured one cup and stirred the steaming brew, carried it into the living room, and set it down to crank up the machine and play “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.”
Taking her teacup, she sat on the loveseat next to her silent companion. Arnold wore a snappy summer outfit accented by a red bow tie. At Arnold’s acme alit a straw boater that could make any body a gentleman.
She blew at the wisp of vapor coming from the aromatic tea. Someday Arnold might become too brittle for them to spoon—
By the light of the silvery moon—
“Arnold,” she whispered, “you are my dream come true.”