All That Glitters

All That Glitters

She always has liked things that sparkle.

That’s why they call her Magpie.

To her, everything that glitters may not be gold, but it certainly is beautiful.

She used to be a social butterfly, flitting here and there to parties in glamorous, sparkling frocks.

But things change.

She’s old now.

Lives in a run down old cottage with not even any modern plumbing. It’s cozy, and full of shining things.

The children think she’s magical, with her funny shimmering house.

The adults joke about her, calling her house a flare.

They’ll always go and see her though.

Always ready to ask advice or accept tea from the glittering cottage.

That’s why, when my brother found the kettle, I took it to her.

It was black and bruised and faded when I gave it to her, but I knew that she’d love it like it had never been loved before. She would rub it back to the bright, shiny copper kettle it had been once, long ago.

It’s shining on the windowsill of her house now.

Sparkling like a lovely bright beacon of hope.

A sign that there’s a space for all that glitters.. Somewhere.

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