Near the sleepy willows,
where glideth the silent brook,
lies me, 'Boundary of the Wind', a house, officially at 10, Lover's Lane......unofficially, beyond the veil of violet mist, just to the left of where you feel a whiff of frost. A voile of creepers, smoky mariposas, white heathers and an enigmatous blur (which can only be felt, not seen by the mortal eye) envelope me. The blur is that of dreams; dreams, woven by the past. Past, that has ceased to be past forever.
You distinctly feel the dream of Mrs. Heather Campbell on my porch – the shattered dream of motherhood, don't you?. Come now..enter me..You lose your faith in nothingness as you are imbued with the dream of Rose, there, near the fireplace, in a trance, who goes on crocheting her wedding gown she could not wear in her life. Walk up my creaking stairs...As the door of my tower-room opens out, you live the dream of Elvira, at her desk with her quill and paper...whose endless efforts of years was discarded by all publishers. And then, the hopeless dream of a lover in the room beside, through the silent tune on his violin. Poor John! Then there's the dream spoken through the rustle of her gown just behind you, by mute Lady Luscombe, the unfulfilled dream of honour as a wife.
But the sweetest dream in me is the one you feel in all my nooks and corners. The dream of little Daisy. I loved her more than anyone and anything else. I remember trying to keep pace with her phantasmagorical dreams and wishes as she gazed wide-eyed at the stars at night before dozing off to her wonderland. Of course, those were childish whims! But she had one earthly dream – "to cook real things like Lizzie without Marmee's help." After all, she too had to feed a family – red haired Polly, the princess doll, wooden Sicily and button-eyed Jamie.
Oh that wretched day! I could do nothing... but see her silk scarf catch fire from the kitchen fireplace .....her worthless governess was in the garden then. Poor dear! I was once filled with her laughter. Now, I'm filled with her sobs.
You might call me haunted. But I am rather a secluded world of dusk---- with haze; no sunshine to look forward to, no ray of hope for the dreams in me to turn into reality. I'm an enchanted world of crystallized dreams; crystals made by tears of bitter fate. Beg your pardon? You think my doors are jammed, eh? Dearie, there's only entrance to me, no exit....
