The cottage had been vacant for some time and was in disrepair when Aunt Linda happened upon it. The garden had gone to weeds, and tiles were missing from the roof. But a swing still hung from a large maple tree in the backyard. Birds twittered happily in the branches above. A little stream ran in front of the cottage, gurgling merrily, skipping over stones, and slipping under a narrow footbridge.
Inside, sun streamed through the dusty windows. She inspected the rooms and discovered a little space under the stairs. It reminded her of the play space she had in the attic of her childhood home. Vague memories tugged at her heartstrings.
Despite the warnings and concerns of Aunt Linda's friends, ("That old place?" "So much work!") the idea of living in the cottage blossomed. “There’s something magical about this place. I can feel it,” she said. Before she could think twice she was the new owner, quickly setting the place to rights.