Pensive Pen

She rose early, just before dawn, sliding her feet into her slippers and wrapping her robe around her to guard against the morning chill. She shuffles down the hall to the kitchen and puts the kettle on to boil. While the water heats, she takes from the cupboard a dainty cup—adorned with delicate blue flowers and slightly yellowed by years. The kettle whistles and the water steams as it flows over the tea bag in the cup. The sun is just starting to glow on the horizon as she walks to a tattered burgundy wingback chair by the front window. Her frail body is warmed by the hot tea helps as she sits and watches the morning sky awake from shades of grey and steel blue to vibrant pinks and oranges.

She was just finishing her tea when she heard the children’s voices--laughing and singing as they walked to school. Her thoughts raced back to when her own children would walk down that same sidewalk so many years ago. Then the house was filled with sounds. Feet running up and down the hall. Toys buzzing and ringing. Songs and laughter. So bright and happy. But now the house is so quiet she can hear the wall clock slowly ticking time away. It feels dark and cold.

Movement at the corner of her eye brings her back to today. It’s the Postman making his daily rounds. He pauses at each box to take the outgoing mail and leave the new mail—the party invitations and birthday cards, the long homesick letters from kids away at college and the short notes from grown children with families of their own. He is a very sweet young man who always brings her mail to the door for her, pausing to chat for a moment before continuing his route. But today he only gives her a slight shake of his head and a little wave. There is no mail for her today, no letters from the children, not even a bill or a sales paper.

The afternoon sun is warm and comforting on her face. She slips into sleep where her dreams keep her company. She finds herself taking long mountain hikes with the family, singing in choirs, jumping into huge piles of orange, yellow and red leaves and dancing grand waltzes at some of the finest halls. These dreams comfort her and she smiles faintly in her sleep.

Hunger wakes her. She sets the dinner table for two. They were together for 60 years until he passed a year ago. She still half expects to turn and see him sitting in his old chair reading the newspaper. She makes a cold ham and cheese sandwich on the plate with delicate blue flowers slightly yellowed by years and eats silently.

Darkness has fallen and house has a chill to it. The dishes are clean and put away. She shuffles back to the bedroom and crawls into bed. The right side is hers. The left side was always his. She pulls the covers up around her shoulders and turns to face his pillow. His scent still lingers there and for a moment, she can hear his voice, "I love you, Darlin'". She falls asleep imagining him holding her close and dreaming of days past.

She rose early, just before dawn….