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Afternoon Walk
A soft summer breeze breathes life into the quiet room. The frayed lace curtains dance gently and silently leaving a graceful, moving shadow pattern on the floor and walls. The Tattered, tweed jacket still hangs on the hallway hook. An old, hand-carved walking stick rests in a nearby corner. His faded, worn cap sits atop the small, hall table, a wedding gift, so long ago. Her open book slips onto her lap as she dozes. Her neck limp and dangling, reading glasses askew. Her head flops forward and she awakens with a jerk. “I’m not asleep,” she explains to the disinterested dog sprawled in a patch of sun that warms the well-worn, wooden floor, “just resting my eyes, you know”. The dog awakes from his nap with a start and stares at the coat swaying, ever so slightly, on the wall hook while excitedly wagging his tail. The walking stick suddenly falls to the floor from its place in the corner. The dog turns and bounds for the door. The old woman rises from her rocker with a sigh wondering if the creaking noise is the old rocker or her old bones. Lonely these past few years, but not alone, she longingly wishes she still had the youth to walk along the path and enjoy the gardens as they once did together. She smiles wistfully as she remembers the white picket fence, now faded and in ill-repair. Her blood seems to warm and she flushes as she closes her eyes and sees the path with the freshly white-washed pickets adorned with bright, passion pink, ruby red and regal white hollyhocks, her mother’s pride and joy. She inhales the soft fragrance of honeysuckle which clings to the back gate and hears the low drone of the bumble bee making his way dutifully from blossom to bloom. Remembering, as if watching a picture show in her mind’s eye, she watches as they walked hand-in-hand ignoring the occasional bumps and pebbles. Jumping over puddles after a spring rain, he would laugh and squeeze her hand and sometimes steal a kiss. She would protest, but both knew the protests to be just for show. Her proper upbringing would expect nothing less. |
