A WISH FOR ALICE

I stood in a strange village
Or rather a village
Where I was a stranger
Stood in front of a cottage
In need of a lick of paint
It was the home of my aunt
An aunt, not unknown
But not spoken of
Except in hushed whispers
Because of a love
The love that dare not speak its name
In a different time
A less understanding time
She had lived her twilight years
In a nursing home
Frail of body but sharp of mind
She had long out lived
All her family and others
Who had shunned her
“Something to be said for a deviant life style”
My father would have said
And now she was no more
But she had left me her cottage
Aunt Alice, my godmother
So I stand on the threshold
Key in hand which I put in the lock
On opening the door I enter
Although dusty and stale
The house bears all the marks
Of a person loved
So she found happiness then!
I move from room to room
Looking for Alice
Feeling like a burglar
But as I search
I feel less and less like a stranger
Familiar faces in the photos
My mother and other aunts
Older than they should have been
They did not shun her totally then
Finally I reach the kitchen
I unbolt the back door
And pulled it hard
It opened reluctantly
To reveal the garden
Where the photos were taken
It was clearly once well cared for
But no longer,
Shrubs and trees
Have broken the bonds of cultivation
To create a wilderness
Through knee high grass
I followed the path
Un trod for many summers
Past remnants of the old garden
Glimpses of ornamental masonry
A birdbath, a sun dial
The vague outline of a bench
At the bottom of the garden
Rotting In one corner
An ivy clad shed stood
In the other Barely visible at first
Hidden amidst the foliage
Of nettles and tangled brambles
I see on closer inspection
A wishing well
First to appear was the roof
Cloaked in a cascade of ivy
In its eaves silken web’s
Fine spun like lace
Hold prisoner drops of dew
Which glint in the morning sun
I can see, as I get closer
The crumbling masonry
And the flag stones at its base
Fractured by tree roots
To one side Lies the wooden bucket
Rotting in the grass
Its metal bands rust brown
I thrust my hand deep in my pocket
Taking out a coin
And turned it slowly in my fingers
Before tossing it into the well
And I made my wish.
Then after a moment I turned
Then paused when a thought crossed my mind
When Alice stood on this very spot
In the dappled sunlight
Of her cottage garden
What did she wish for?