General

Our front room had everything we ever wanted, a rug and our musical instruments. With more, however could we have fitted our friends in to sit and be so merry with us? We used to sit there, cross legged on the woollen fibres, the reds and blues becoming part of the music somehow. In a way, it all weaved together, the laughter, the melody and those late-summer hues.

General

The rug was a delicate green, infused with the kind of white that brought memories of baby-breath flowers. It was so soft underfoot, and warmer than the wooden floor around. It could have been made from fine wool, yet in truth the fibres were made from plastic bottles. Jasmine used to sit on it as she pushed her toys, making sounds, away in her own imaginary world.

General

That rug, that stupid old filthy rug, had seen more dancing shoes than a ballroom. It was where we twirled, everyone with everyone, the music escaping from every open window and door. Once the colour of cherries, now it told an earthy tale of love and laughter, of more good times than anyone is ever promised. I could have replaced it, brought in another, but instead we hauled it to the river in good weather and washed it as best we could.