Enchanted Potion

I already know, from icy tipped fingers, that it’s a little chill outside of the duvet. But, there is no ignoring the snuffles of a hopeful wet nose and fluffy paw nudging me away from enchanting imaginations, desperately clinging to dissipating tendrils of imossible dreams.

Without warning, the comfort of dreams is lost as they snap themselves away. Forgotten and sulking at being carelessly dropped from my much longed for attention, if only for a second.  I hear taps excitedly scurrying from the room as I spin my legs around to leave the cozy embrace of the night.

By the time I pull myself to the large glass door, she is sat staring at me with bright brown eyes, sweeping the floor with her relentless tail. A tin water bowl clatters in her frantic skipping to exit, throwing water across the floor, before the handle has even turned. And, with a rush of cold air, she is running outside towards her ball. No urgency for anything other that to resume her constant love of playing and to fully live the life of joy she accepts as hers.

 

Turning my head, I look at the bedside clock. It’s the middle of the night and I begrudgingly remember the energy of life has long left the room. It won’t be long now, we will play in the garden once more. My chair, with it’s oversized wheels, remains empty in the corner of the room. The gift of living is but an enchanted potion. The bottle is empty and it’s time to leave.

Craig Worcester
Jan 15 2022

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