Esther’s cat

Anyone looking into Esther’s house, through yellowed sheers covering grimy glass panes, would see a parlor filled with dusty furniture.

A bowl of spoiled milk sits by the cold hearth, a treat for a nonexistent cat.

An ornate Cabriole sofa upholstered in faded red velvet sits in front of the oriel window. Once a vivid rose is now a wilted carnation. A layer of fine powder covers everything, settling deep into wooden cervices and fabric folds. Everything except the Queen Anne chair occupied by a contemplative Esther.

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what happened to the cat.

Inspiration: Spoil

 

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I believe all good fiction includes an element of truth, and all good photography includes an element of fantasy. In this journal I hope to give voice to the stories swirling around in my head, and to capture the images I see through my camera’s lens.

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