Creak Of A Dress

I had a dream last night.

A dream that made me wonder if it was a dream at all.

I was reading in the living room and I heard my grandmother singing from the kitchen.

She wasn’t  singing per se.

It was a la-la -la, some ladies of a certain age do when their hands are busy 

But her voice was sweet and the clatter of cutlery on the drainage board ( I haven’t got one) was reassuring .

lids rattled and I imagined she was retrieving a cake from the old cake tin with the green lid and I heard side plates being put out on the table, and the kettle steamed on the gas ring even though I have only an electric hob.

The brown teapot filled with boiling water and I could smell washing powder, cold cream then cake sponge which I knew was made moist by raspberry jam.

The ironing board clinked open 

More la la singing 

And the creak of a dress a shade too small for a waist.

In the dream, I put down the book and walked to the kitchen door 

And of course my kitchen was empty, and neat and very cold

And I woke up feeling rather flat…..

Debby’s words from yesterday caught in my head this morning

“We are surrounded by the ghosts of loved ones gone on, aren't we?”

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/URhpNbL