WIDGET’S DOLL MUSEUM

The old house has creaky bones and shifts on its timber stumps when the southerly winter winds creep around the eaves. Inside rooms between deep verandahs and central hallway, the dolls huddle on dusty shelves. Glazed eyes wobble behind glass cases, porcelain limbs clutching flags of different nations. The material, faded where the sunlight slides, represent national costumes. Their faces collect the hues of different kilns, the younger ones extruded plastic perfection. On weekends the owners throw back the doors and open their home to doll fanciers that push on the heavy timber door with limbs connected by rubber bands.

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