I love walking to my grandmother’s house. It is close to but not inside a vast wooded area. It is a small walk from my house to hers so when I was little I was able to walk down the quiet village road all by myself to go and visit granny. I used to pretend I was Little Red Riding Hood (even though I didn’t have a red hood) and I made sure that I kept a wary eye open for any signs of a wolf.
As I passed the last cottage and came upon the field that bordered Granny’s cottage I looked up in anticipation and slowed my pace a bit. Filimore never failed me. The minute he became aware of my presence he galloped up to the fence separating us, nuzzling my arm, and coat pockets in his search for treats. The field belonged to a riding school. I could see the top of its bright red roof at the other end of the field.
Today I had a carrot for him. His eyes sparked interest as I pulled it out of my pocket and he waited patiently until I offered it to him. He took it gently from my fingers. I watched him while he ate. His beautiful eyes, framed by long silky eyelashes seemed to reflect his joy while he ate. As the last bit of carrot disappeared I stroked his muzzle and whispered “Goodbye, see you next time.”
I turned back to the road and carried on walking to Gran’s house. Now as I looked at it, it seemed to resemble the little Gingerbread House. It was painted in a splash of a variety of vibrant colours which reflected Gran’s obsession with art. The porch was frilled with startling white broekie-lace.
Looking at the house I understood why some people may regard her with slight suspicion of being a witch. I suspected that she was a very good witch as she always had help for everyone whether that help was spiritual, physical or mental. She was a thoroughly good woman who was gifted with the healing touch.
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