The Lady Down the Lane

When I was but a boy in the small village of Cold Springs, I lived near a cantankerous old witch. At least, that's what the gossip implied she was. Her name was Almeda Hamilton, and she was a hoarder. Of course, we knew nothing of hoarders back then and most everyone thought she was plum crazy. She'd trap and skin groundhogs and squirrels, salt their hides and stitch their raw pelts into fur coats. Pew, you could smell her coming downwind for miles. She lived off-road in a patch of trees in a dilapidated cottage crammed with garbage. The irony is, her father once owed the whole county, and she was an heiress, suffering from a severe phobia and mental problem. Years back, or so the story goes, her fiancée had left her at the altar, but her father had built them that house, and so, she stayed there a recluse. It was rumored she'd buried hordes of cash, and when she died, alone in her filth, her property was potholed by fools trying to find it. I confess, I felt sorry for her then, and still do, for the lady got mistreated by the world, and on its behalf, I apologize. (Free Verse) 03/18/2020