cottage - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Lucy spotted Solomon’s cottage. It crouched low into the grassy embankment, as though it were trying to hide, but the misshapen slate roof was too large to go unnoticed. Through the darkness she could see the coarse, unevenly sized, grey stones that made up the walls. As she got closer, the occasional flash of colour - some blues, others green or brown- emerged from the grey stones that looked like eyes trying to steal a glimpse of the world.
The cottage hunkered low on the moor like a child in the elements trying to keep warm. Yet it looked alive and welcoming with a thin silver trail curling from the crooked stone chimney. The sides were the same grey slabs as the low walls in the dales and the roof was a darker slate. Without a thought to who lay inside we tucked our chins to our chests and strode right to it against the wind and driving sleet.
In that valley of storms the cottages were thought drab. They were squat to the hillside and the rain lashed against the dirty panes. There was a small hearth that barely seemed to warm the room and all the time came terrible drafts. But Lauren never saw them that way. To her these everyday cottages were the salt of the earth, they gave protection to the poor workers of the district and she wasn't scared of the rain one bit. The rain can come she thought, bring on the rain, and then I'll walk out into the haze of the daylight and get gloriously wet. Perhaps too it will wash the windows clean. She so wanted to see the trees and flowers that were igniting with spring greenery. The little cottage would only be her prison in this season if she was scared of the rain. And why should she be scared of a little God sent rain? Wasn't that how He kept the world alive and healthy? She held out her hands to the steady drops and smiled in a way she knew came from deep within, thinking to herself, "Jesus bring the rain." Though the ground became wet and her skin cold, she was invigorated, alive and full of love for all His creations.
The small cottage was perched on the plain near the woods, so old and poor that it was surprising how it was still standing. And yet it seemed alive and welcoming, a warm ribbon of smoke rising from the old chimney. The walls were made of the same wood and the roof was clearly stone, so old that it was a wonder how it did not yet cave in. The cottage was the only thing there. There were no other houses around it, and this one would have looked abandoned if not for the smoke.
The cottage looked as if it was straight out of a fairytale with a happy ending or a picture book for little kids. It looked like many things. It was rusty, old and dusty, but rather welcoming. The whole house was made of dark red bricks. A tiny stove, two small wooden chairs, a circular table, a not-so-large matress and that was quite it. Hedges and vines and honeysuckles and so much more. A green gate with paint falling off was the door to the property. Then came a narrow dirt path with small pebble, a tiny pond with lilypads and a few ducks, maybe a frog or two. A two-metre hedge surrounded the property. Vine grew up the archway and the arched wooden door with brown planks. The grass was green and yellow, scorched by the hot, blazing sun in the summer. Two huge trees, one with red and orange leaves. One of the trees was hollow. A family of squirrels lived there. Occasionally, a woodpecker or an owl would come to visit too.
Life was plain, simple and quite hard. But, life was good and happy, too.