Who would descend such a staircase? A Quincenara introduced to high society? A bride approaching her groom? Or an matronly host of an elite inn catering only to the jet-setting crowd?
Morning light bathes the steps through east-facing windows, and a breeze rustles the translucent curtains. So just what occasion would occur on such a spring or autumn day? A brunch, or luncheon party, perhaps. Or nothing at all; just another ordinary day, like so many others.
Only the staircase could say. And it remains silent.
fallen petals
another old house remains
on the market
for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Ascent #writephoto
![Donna B. McNicol [@dbmcnicol] Avatar](https://1.gravatar.com/avatar/d45ffda02ebda68e0bf0e90cd1601a35e85dfb085d492ae7aaf25abf6099c34c?s=40&d=identicon&r=G){kind=avatar}
Frank J. Tassone 
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