MOTHER THE OLD WOMAN

Mother the old woman; The old woman sat before the window in the thin fall sunlight watching the street which the chill Autumn wind had swept clear of people. Her veined and ancient hands seemed the only part of her still alive; until now and then a passing automobile aroused a flicker of interest in her faded brown eyes. But her hands were never still, incessantly they plucked at the blue/red striped apron ties around her waist. Now they discovered a knotted bit of string in the pocket and worked diligently at it's untangling, all the while those apathetic eyes never moved from the deserted street. She was not watching for anyone, this old woman. She was lost in dreams for when one has seen ninety years go by in smoke and flame, shadow and sun, the memory of those years is dim and what is recalled seems to be a part of any life, not the special property of one. There had been children, two husbands, many years ago a proud father, an enduring mother. But all this was past almost forgotten, except when grandchildren begged for a story and she aroused herself long enough to recount some tale of long ago. In the main, however age had spread a shadow over the years in kindness, since the constant memory of so many sharp sorrows, so many deep ecstasies would have been too much for frail old age to bear, and so she sat in scant sunlight and tried to collect her thoughts.WE HAVE MEMORIES< SO THAT WE MIGHT HAVE ROSES IN DECEMBER.