In Between Worlds

It was the smell of steeped leaves that got my attention.
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My mother's gift was a cedar chest. Intricately carved, with scenery from the homeland at the sides. The craftsman had etched my name, my personal name, on the lid: Peony, in the old script. Touching it brought back memories. Memories of my mother's own cedar chest.

The chest was tucked away in a corner of her bedroom. A solid presence, with its own secrets. My mother opened it one day and I peered inside, seeing her wedding gown still cling-wrapped, her wedding shoes, old jewelery faded ivory in color and a handful of mothballs. What caught my attention was the white fur pelt. My hand trembled when I stroked it.
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I started writing flash fiction on Fridays (Twitter hashtag - fridayflash). It is a discipline of sorts, honing my writing.

In descending order...

Dragon Rider.

Harvest.

Falling Leaves.

Sojourner.