That river . The river that ran from behind the house , under the watermill that no longer worked and through the house . There was a glass window in the dining room where you could watch the river run through ; my grandpa wouldn ’ t dare look though , he was too afraid of the spiders who had taken it as their home . The window in the floor was illuminated at night and the light would flicker in the water and create a warm atmosphere . When the river came out at the front of the house , it emerged from under a bridge and a path led down to the riverside where small fountains stood submerged in the water . The banks suddenly became steep after the riverside area which created a terrifying drop into the shallow waters . The river ran around the whole house and through the orchard and then out into the surrounding fields .
That place . We spent two , maybe three , weeks there every summer but it felt like eternity . It was a unique place , like a dream . I remember arriving and feeling the memories rush back . It was a home away from home . I want to return . And I will .
“… maybe , that house . The house we visited every year …”