There’s a lovely old house nearby. I’ve never been inside, but I think of it as a place where one could sit next to the rock fireplace, a warm cup of coffee in one hand, an open book in the other, and be at peace with the world.
I’ve often wished I could climb up that little stone path and sit on that porch and pretend that I lived there.
The last time I passed by, the words, “The House That Jack Built” popped into my mind. Then, quite naturally, the following little tale laid itself out in my mind. Here it is. I hope it makes you smile.