The threshold - an invisible barrier between the never-ending hum of the larger spaces under the pitched roof; beyond, a diffused calmness longed for as the shadows claim the places once dappled with sunlight and sound.
Feet sink into thick carpet, pleasingly cushioning weighted steps across the room. Antique lace curtains ripple as summer puffs tiny breaths of coolness scented by Moonflowers in through a trio of oak framed windows - the cascade of night voices rise and fall as if in unison with the gentle winds. A well-worn overstuffed chair sits beside the lacquered old sewing box that was her mother's, its contents neatly arranged by size and color. Filtered moonlight echoes back from the mirror over the decades old wooden bureau and illuminates the gilded frames which hold the smiling faces of her most beloved. Beyond, the simple bed adorned in hand quilted finery beckons repose.