Not For Sale

How sad the small oak dresser must have been as that tag was placed about his drawer handle.

“Not for sale?,” he pondered.

“That probably means I’m not good enough for anyone to even want to give me a glance at this upcoming showing.”

The showing that Oak thought of was the estate sale. the former owners of The Brattleboro House were growing into ailing health and they needed no longer to live on their own.

How Oak would miss them!

Nonetheless, his greatest concern now was that he would not even get a chance at  a new possible loving and happy owner if he didn’t even get shown.

And sure enough, as he’d thought, the sellers quickly moved him aside, aside, and aside again. With each room he said- “Oh! I should be delighted to live in there! Please rest me right there, and I shall make a cozy living of it.”

But rather, in the bustle of the few days or perhaps a week (wood does not track time too well), the sellers had no sooner finished and he found himself resting in the adjacent shed. this shed was still connected to the Brattleboro House, but it was squeezed between it and the car garage.

Oak could feel the warmth of Brattleboro, his older and more cement brother, but he could no longer see his face or hear his voice.

Oak snuggled against the ridge of the outer shed wall below the window.  It was drafty. But it was much better being stowed than the alternative.


~Louise A. Grady

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