Amie's Window

With eyes partially closed and a surrendering smile as if she were awaiting love's first innocent caress, Amie sits by her favorite window in anticipation of the shear splendor of God's awakening dawn and the warm engulfing embrace of morning's first light. Amie's eyes open wider and her smile becomes broader as the rhapsody of life playing on outside her window grows more intense with each passing moment. The birds sing their welcoming tribute to daybreak in concert with the melodic sound of rustling leaves as a warm breeze gently whispers through them. With one tiny frail hand braced against the sill Amie leans slightly forward in her little wheel chair as a dainty finger with candy apple red nail polish from her other small hand cautiously pushes aside the life sustaining tether she has grown weary of just to allow the consuming aromas of spring permeate every tiny recess of her pale nose. Overtaken by the heavy floral fragrances of Jasmine and Gardenia clinging to the damp air, Amie falls back in her chair with eyes closed and a faint, but rapturous grin on her face. The sound of people chatting and laughing as they hustle along the sidewalk below in concert with the distant rumbling noise of cars whizzing up and down the highway suddenly fills Amie's awaiting little ears and her big brown almond shaped eyes pop open to investigate what is going on below her window this beautiful morning. She stares longingly at a group of children impatiently waiting for their school bus wishing she could one day be standing on the corner waiting like other kids. Amie hears a familiar voice behind her say: "Okay kiddo it is time for your last treatment." As the nurse turns Amie's chair toward the door, Amie sadly glances back at her little window wondering if she will ever look through it again. Several hours later a gentle wisp of breeze catches the end of one of the maroon curtains hanging alongside Amie's little window to the world making the curtain curl and appear to wave as if it were trying to beckon someone closer. From a small hospital bed across the room the weakened voice of a small child calls out: "I will definitely see you tomorrow Mr. Window."