Velvet Glove Compartment

Age defiant was this spruce and spirited citizen slinking blithely past the burgundy red doors of her enigmatic country dwelling.
As her olive skin neatly curved fingers
slid over an intermittently scratched carbon black handrail she had only the haziest of inklings of what is in store on this typical Mediterranean day with its samba infused energising heat.
Her home was both an opulent refuge and showpiece garden.
Chippings in broad aggregation were much in evidence at this point as Martina Field heard a sparse crunch under her platform heel sandals.
Gravel size from granule to boulder did not daunt this optimistic lady.
Stereotypes made poor text for someone who was all too willing to spurn such spurious  notions.
As for her surrounding garden the word  paradise wouldn’t even begin to do it justice. 
Pools that trickled mystically in the sun part  camouflage part novel Eden.
The West Himalayan Birch tree  with its stunning chalk-white bark providing delicate shade and of course her brand new car a Mazda which her family and friends had purchased for her.
Martina, after all, had just passed her driving test on the umpteenth attempt.
In many ways this vehicle was a new lease of life for her.
This car was special in other ways, not least the glove compartment.
Martina kept her good luck charms, amulets, chokers, pendants, family photographs, assorted diaries, personal letters and naturally for her a special pair of designer velvet gloves.
For this reason she referred to this part of her car  as the Velvet Glove Compartment.
As her husband had passed away two years earlier and remaining family had spread to the four corners of the earth
Martina now had cultivated a relationship with what was left to her.
Most people her age had long since died.
This made Martina very aware of her own mortality when driving confidently down the avenue out on to the main road.
For the first time she could observe the moist laden shrubs, sun scorched paddocks, hedges with their tangled briars and the appetising squashed berries.
Young boys and girls holding hands, rubbing noses, their joyful adolescent giggles dashing up country lanes.
Martina had this smirk on her face because it reminded her of her own youth.
“Better watch that road in front, Martina, focus on what you are doing.”
Martina could have sworn it was her husband Alvin’s voice.
“We used to be like that at their age.
Even later and beyond.”
Alvin’s sonorous tone circulating in her head.
“One of your charming faults was how your mind wandered rather like your driving.
Those beautiful oyster pearl eyes were always somewhere else.”
Alvin’s madcap laugh trailing away in Martina’s head as she navigated the pitfalls of those cracks and craters in front of her.
“How I wish all the family were with me now.
I really miss them.”  Martina thought with the good luck charms rattling in her compartment.
Suddenly an irate driver yelled.
“Watch where you are going…. you fool.
You’re a danger.”
This motorist didn’t look much younger than Martina.
He smirked ironically when speeding off.
She thought he looked like her late husband.
Maybe she was hallucinating.
By the same token she squinted at a young lady on her driving test.
“Heart goes out to her. Hope it doesn’t take her as long as I to pass.”
Martina again.
Driving through the bewildering array of roundabouts and junctions she gained in confidence.
But something told her to return home.
It may have been Alvin’s whisper or intuition
The other motorists were reckless at this point.
“I’m being directed by something but I’ll go home.
It’s been a good day.”  The stoic Martina.
The return journey had no word to describe it.
She was a puppet of an other worldly force.
This envelope or shroud descended as she continued home at a steady pace.
The prompt had a familiar ring.
Martina was soon to discover what it was.
The local postman was about to close the wrought Iron gate to her house when Martina stopped.
“Tom, you have something for me.”
She said.
The postman handed her a large padded envelope.
It was in her daughter’s handwriting.
Martina opened the envelope and read the letter.
Something slipped to the car floor.
“ Dear Mother.
We miss you terribly.
Enclosed please find money for a smart phone.
We can skype and see each other on screen.”
Martina’s heart dropped.
The page on the floor read.
“By the way we are coming for Christmas.
Thought you’d love that.
Maybe you’ll pick us up at the airport now you are on wheels.”
At that point the glove compartment opened and the charms, family photos popped out.
Martina cried as she stepped on the page!

Poetry Nook Member Poem Of The Day Twice in 2020