Tim Gardiner

The Secret Chamber

The view from the high tower window is my only solace. I watch chestnut leaves wither, daffodils brush the winter away, and dragonflies harangue horse and carriage. On sleepless nights when the moon’s portrait adorns the stone floor, I often hear an owl call from a distant tree, wondering whether it feels the loneliness of night as I do. With dawn’s empty sunrise, footsteps in the corridor herald the arrival of bread and water, sometimes a mumbled word or two.

the past...
sealed off
brick by brick