A brocade dressing gown.
Silken, with tassels made from Pocohontas’s hair, so much cosier than it looked.
The ruby encased in a silver bouquet, heavy to hold. It felt alive and decadent.
Hummings of a foreign land.
Cut glass decanters, stained and Rubebesque.
Sheer delicacies on a tray of swirls, engraved with letters of another world.
Cups, with saucers.
Softly held while a wireless squawked and squealed undertones.
Coffee. Marmalade. Pay phones.
Ribbons and oxblood shoes.
Feathered friends in colours imbued with tales and stories.
Leather books and china figures.
Side plates and cutlery shone.
Gripping to a time passing on.
Such wonders before the eyes of a child, set in train and set in mind. Imagination, desires and memories.
None so bold, none so free.