I saw the lovely image following this story on the page of The Grumbling Gargoyle.
On certain late summer nights, when the air was still, yet thick with honeysuckled perfume, the surface of the lake was smooth as silk. On those nights the gracious hosts held grand soirees at the manor on the shore.
The invited guests floated across the pond on silent skiffs powered by muscled pole.
Women wrapped in lace and pearls, escorted by men in soft suits of velvet armor, stepped lightly onto the dock.
The full moon traced the manor and its gardens in silver light.
Music and laughter filled the night as the gentry danced 'til dawn. Then hastened to their waiting fleet, to be carried, yawning, home before the garish sun burnt the glamour gone.
But, gracious hosts grow old. Lace tatters and velvets mold.
The manor on the shore is ruined. Threshold and hearth are the only remains. No skiffs moored at the rotting dock. The gardens untended, fall prey to hardier strains.
But on certain late summer nights, the air is still, yet thick with honeysuckled perfume. And the surface of the lake is smooth as silk.
Whispers of music hover in the night, as the full moon sketches reflections of silver white memories across the empty pond.
Santiago Caruso : The Spectral House / Ink and scratching over paper / 32 cm x 24 cm / 2013