Hidden away in the corner, a severed ancient clock sits waiting.
A crowd of dormant teddy bears overflow a restricted shelf.
A pair of black and red chequered slippers rest worn, against a carpet of grain and must. It reminds me of a joyous Scottish dancer twirling around a backdrop of blue eroded sand, wearing a very tedious scarlet and coal-black kilt.
A stench of fresh lavender plays delicately around my nose, almost as if I had drifted in to a vast yard full of organic flowers.
Midway through the room, an outdated bed stands tired and frail, as it struggles to support its day to day companion, my grandma.
Against a freshly coated window, fog and frost crowd the glass, only to shed tears as a mellow must of tomato soup rejects the frozen hold.
Through the window, a lonesome image stands camouflaged in thick white clumps of snow.
In the sky, shades of turquoise-blue and aqua complement the white blanket that coats the garden.
Within the branches, strings of icicles dangle delicately left and right, to the gentle blows of the wind.
It reminds me of my grandmother's fear of spiders and cobwebs.
I chuckle silently. Smiling from above an old oak cabinet, a familiar childhood memory greets me with two endearing little black eyes and a warm cheeky grin.
I smile at the name stitched upon the item's textile red shirt - Winnie the Pooh.
Years later, so much has changed.
In the corner lies an untouched square of dust where an ancient severed clock once clearly stood.
On a now chipped and angled shelf, one grazed with built up grime and mould, teddy bears sit unresponsive, inexpressive.
Stains of matured spilt tea, mud and numerous unknown substances penetrate the now faded carpet.
A pair of black and red chequered slippers now riddled with rot, stand stationary in the same spot I had last seen them 10 years ago.
A stench of rot mixed with humidity invades my nose as the summer's hot breeze surges in through the window, accompanied by the hot and heavy stench that lingers.
Midway through the room, a barely standing bed slumps, submerged with filth and dead human skin, sunken in the centre of the mattress, almost as if its daily companion was still present, asleep.
Through the window, a lonesome kowhai tree stands peaceful against a scene of a setting sun.
The yellow rays of the sun complement the sturdy green leaves strapped among the tree.
Smiling from above an old oak cabinet, a familiar childhood memory recognises my face.
I smile at the name still flawlessly stitched upon the item's familiar textile red shirt.
Winnie the Pooh.
I see my grandma once again.
