the key
the domestic minx
8 Comments
The life of a Domestic Minx is filled with daily surprises.
If I am lucky it is a thoughtful parcel left
by one of my menagerie.
Often, however, it is a curious mix of relentlessly accumulating detritus; bread crumbs, cat hairs, sand and fluff.
But this morning there is something special.
A key.
Small, silver, lonely and lockless.
Its identity unknown, its origin uncharted, it is a mystery. An enigma.
Ah, the lonely key. Is there a sadder object?
Separated from it's lock, it is a thing redundant and adrift.
There is a world of sadness in the purposeless key.
Perhaps that is why I collect them, rescue them.
I have sixty five now.
They are all special. I know where they all have come from and I know a little of their history.
They hang purposefully from various cupboards and hooks, some dangle blackly against whitewashed walls, others rest quietly on cupboards and shelves.
There is the intricate tangle of keys from Santorini, a wardrobe key pilfered from a bed and breakfast in La Rochelle, a clock key from London, a dresser key from Rome, a small pretty silver key found on a country lane in Sheffield.
Oh, their days of opening doors and turning locks may have passed but their future is secure. They have found their way into my home where their private esoterica waft gently around them like perfume.
I fondle them gently, teasing them for their secrets.
Oh what strange scenes have fascinated them as they turned in the lock.
Did their position afford them a lingering look at prohibited pleasures?
Who was in there and what were they doing?
With whom?
Ooh, do tell!
What scandals were hissed behind closed doors, what vile crimes perpetrated on the other side of the lock?
Tell me.
Tell me what treasures were stashed behind the wardrobe doors? Were there terrible things? Did you cringe in horror?
Were there dirty secrets too? Or a feast of delightful fancies laying in the depths of the dresser?
The Key holds a wealth of possibilities.
It is a story waiting to be written. A tale to be told. A secret to be unlocked.
But the Lock and her Key are bound. They need each other for translation, or the story is lost, the secrets lay quiet and the spiel is unspoken.
I have sixty five secret lives and unspoken dreams dangling blackly against my whitewashed walls and resting quietly on my cupboards... Now I have another sitting in the palm of my hand.
Who are you?
Where have you been?
What secrets can you share?
Tell me, tell me please...
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Reader Comments (8)
I think you have found the key to my heart...
Why, Eddie, is it on my floor with the cat hairs and bread crumbs?
You are the lock to my key, Minx. I heart you.
Beautiful post.
I heart you too, little Kitty x
Thank you for your kind words.
Purrrr xx
This is my key words lovely...
Merci Violette x
j'adore the key...
once, i was the keeper of the keys...then i left them in the foothills of San Jose one evening whilst travelling to the end of the world with my best friend...you see i no longer needed them since we weren't coming back. until we awoke the next day in her feather bed in a panic realizing that we did need the keys...we returned to a vast sea of grasses and dirt...to find the keys and my hat next to them poised in mid-air as if frozen in time.
I was also saved from a violent attack once by the Key Man of San Jose.
Keys are important...powerful objects.
Lovely post!
Ahh, The Key.
Powerful indeed and capable of wreaking Great Havoc if misplaced...
Is there anything more miserable than being Locked Out? (apart from being Locked In - I'm claustrophobic..)
Thank God for The Key Man of San Jose!!!