Essence, Fall Campaign
Fall Campaign Essence Story
Beads of glass strung along careful cable knit, a salt laced dew leaves its gentle chill. Watery air hovers over tanned arms and their scattering of sunbleached hairs, hands clasped around the thick, ivory walls of china mug.
Feet, blanketed by short woolen socks, trust their rubbery cladding, as muck boots trod gingerly through the lawn’s deep green. Long, lingering strides hover as eyes scan greyish mist, all for one glimpse of the morning shore.
Two sleeves slip from shawled shoulders. Desperately trying for escape with every step, their fleece is tugged begrudgingly back and catches on the prongs of grandmother’s ring. It’s a little loose, but she loves it. The gold band, rubbed smooth from decades of wear and warmed by her finger, still holds slight cursive ridges. They read, “We’ll carry each other home,” and she knows it’s true. She couldn’t ever leave, after all.
A small shiver begins. Resigning to the first hours’ fog, she returns. Climbing wide, washed oak stairs, her door arrives, left lazily ajar. A waxy glow dances across her butcher block, and she exhales lightly to spare what’s left of her wick. Subtle smoke mingles with notes of oak, spiced apple, and musk. She turns.
Regal frames stand proudly atop a walnut hutch, the faces peering from them mirroring features on her own. The curve of that nose, tilt of one’s smile, and freckled cheekbones encase the navy eyes she views them through. If they could stare back, they’d know, she’s all of us.
She tends the fire. Stoking it, another roughly hewn timber is nestled between the coals. The hearth pushes a steady pulse throughout the house. It’s hers to keep. She warms.
Objective
She safeguards the heritage that’s woven together her heart and house. Decades old, she holds to it. It’s her hearth. She lets the fire burn low, because comfort is her object, but never out. She knows it, and just how to tend it. She treasures the things that make her feel - like herself and altogether new. Whether that be long, linen dresses or her family’s silver, she steps lightly and with intention. She believes in what belongs, by the sea and in her hutch. She turns ever homeward: within.