As a little girl, she often escaped the city’s bustle by visiting the public library. She’d sit quietly reading Betsy, Tacy and Tib stories and smile with Winnie the Pooh. Sometimes she’d spin the large globe with eyes closed, stop it, and imagine moving where her finger landed.
Years passed until she was alone, eyes clouded by cataracts, still living in the same small house. She adored its flower garden, tending it so carefully. Hollyhocks, primroses, lilacs grown tall over the years. Today, it rained so she sat beside her kitchen window gazing out. Screen door open, she could hear the rain patter, smell her city lilacs release their sweet, wild perfume, then bow down, heavy with rain. The teapot would soon whistle, and she’d pour herself a cup to share with Jane Austen, escaping into the world of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. In Prosery, we’re given a line from a poem and must include it, word for word, within a piece of flash fiction that is 144 words or less in length. Today we’re asked to include the following lines from British writer, Helen Dunmore’s poem City Lilacs:
“. . . city lilacs
release their sweet, wild perfume
then bow down, heavy with rain.”
Photo taken some years ago on Lilac Sunday at the Arnold Arboretum in Boston.
lillian the home poet 
I love this lifetime story of a life in the company of books, growing old with new fiction.. a wonderful sense of place with all those flowers.
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I love the details in the beginning about visiting the public library and spinning the globe. Sometimes all we need for a bit of adventure is to use our imagination.😉
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For some, it is enough. I like how the shape of her life shifted but remained the same. I feel her contentment ❤
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Your prosery is delightful, Lill, and Annie Boaden and I have a few things in common: the public library, the cataracts, and the garden, although I have more trees and shrubs. I love the way you wove in the prompt lines – seamlessly!
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So evocative of atmosphere and time’s passage, and a glimpse into how our passion for books can stay with us, providing an irreplaceable contentment.
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The ephemeral nature of spring flowers is such a good metaphor for life and how quickly the spring is over.
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So well-crafted, Lillian. A very evocative story. I could imagine her sitting there with her books and flowers.
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Escaping with tea and lilacs. It doesn’t get much better! :>) I love your story Lillian.
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Reading your poem, I felt smelling lilacs. And I made for me herb tea this morning.
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Love this! So often, especially as a child, books were my dearest friends.
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I love how she weathers life, a routine, her passions, joy in the simple things.
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