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Another Sunday morning is here. The kids are running around the house bored out of their minds. They are throwing their basket balls against the wall, and waiting for me to finish the laundry so we can go to the park. We don? t have much of a lawn to play in. I lean against the washer, exhausted.
I begin to daydream as I take the clothes out. I open the dryer door, and climb in. I am getting into a Land Rover at the foot of a steep rocky mountain. It transports my loved ones and I up an inclination on a narrow winding road. The air is full of mist and bewilderment.
The sun is setting over the horizon, and an extensive magnitude of colors adorn the evening. Burgundy and violet blanket the lowering sun. After a stimulating ride we arrive. The majestic structure is breathtaking. A castle, crafted of sturdy grey rock waits for us.
Gargoyles overshadow the colossal front entrance. Carvings decorate the vast amounts of spherical towers and rigid corners. It is definately a magical place. It is very peaceful. There is no clamor of our normal everyday life. I don?
t hear anything. Even the trees surrounding the castle are lifeless and inanimate. They stand, unmoving like soldiers protecting us from the world. Inside, the main foyer is wide and extends several feet.
Antiquated furnishings and elegant tapestries compliment the sentiment we feel. Brilliant gold and warm greens intermingle with the dark marble flooring. Above is a massive glimmering chandelier, made of fine crystals. I am a child at recess as I explore the maze of hallways abundant with bedrooms, dens, and closets. We are obviously the first occupants in a long stretch of time. I pursue one of the sleeping quarters.
The bedding has not been slept in. There is a collection of dust and cobwebs in various corners. An eerie feeling creeps over me, and intrigues me at the same moment. There are impressive stone fireplaces in almost every room.
I can envision myself spending a lot of time cuddling with my beloved in front of a warm crackling fire. The canopy bed is soft and inviting. The blankets and sheets are royal blue. There is an antique oak dresser. In my travels, I realize that all the rooms are decorated with different themes of colors.
I ventured toward one of the many staircases. They are spiral and steep. The clanging noise as I climb, echos through the desolate hallways. They are black, and cold to the touch. I have a steep and vast view of my surroundings. I know it will be hard to leave.
I can hear my son running and playfully yelling through the corridor, creating conversation with each of the many portraits he passes on the way. I let out an uncontrollable burst of laughter. I am not sure if it is that he is so humorous, or if I am overwhelmed by the mystique. I shout down to him, ? I will be upstairs if you need me! ?
He replies, ? OK, Mommy. This place is cool! ? I reach the peak of the staircase. There are several quarters I could investigate. I choose the closest.
It is an over-sized washroom. Adjacent to the naturally toned far wall is an impressively large claw-foot bathtub. A matching beige sink and flush toilet adjoin the neighboring wall. I could fit an army of people in this one room. A long hot bubble bath would be wonderful. I can imagine the steam rising, and covering the large oval-shaped mirror over the sink.
I would light a vanilla candle, turn the lights off, and soak for hours. With my arms crossed, eyes closed, and a grin on my face, I am lost in this thought for a while. I casually make my way back downstairs. My curiousity is sparked by a smell similar to cleaning solutions. I find my way into a large illuminated kitchen. It it suitable to cook for royalty.
A diverse collection of shiny pots, pans, and other cooking utensils hang from the ceiling. The refrigerator could fit an iceberg. I open the door and am overcome by a white rush of cold. I spot a bottle of champagne inside, and several packaged meats in the freezer. They are compliments of the host. It must have been prepared recently, because I could eat off the floors if I so desired.
The floor is brilliant white tile, sparkling with cleanliness. As I exit, I notice a doorway to my left. I open it. To my amazement, I see a room wall-to-wall with books. This is the largest collection I have seen other than in a public library. The bindings are mostly dark blue, green, and red, amongst the sprinkling of dust and lint.
There are old wooden ladders reaching up to the tops of multi-leveled shelves. I notice a brass rotary telephone sitting atop a lengthy antique pine desk, complimented by a brown leather reading chair. I could stay in here for hours, but I need to unpack and find my family. As I reach the main entrance, they are waiting for me, rifling through bags and boxes they had brought along. We look at each other and smile. All I can muster out of my speechless mouth, is a quaint-spoken?
Wow. ? My son sums up the entire experience for us perfectly with an excited and sincere, ? Can we stay here forever, Mommy? Are we going to stay here forever Mommy? Mommy? ?
I look at him, and throw my laundry on the floor.
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Research essay sample on Stay Here Forever Mommy Stay Here Forever Wall
