From her window
“As daylight returned and hummingbirds called from nearby nests, a woman, wise in age, rose from beneath her quilted covers and walked slowly across the dark room.
One side at a time, she drew back each dated curtain before forcing open her stiff, condensation-clouded bedroom window.
Whilst quietly admiring the hummingbirds, In a soft whisper the woman spoke out loud to herself and said ,“How freeing it must feel to fly.”
Closing her eyes just a moment longer, she deeply inhales, recognising the familiar comforts of her decades-long ritual: the fragrant scent of lemongrass tea freshly brewing upon the stovetop, and poppy seed muffins rising beautifully within the warmth of the oven.
Turning slowly from the window she had loved for most of her life, the woman let her fingertips linger upon the worn wooden sill. Time had softened its edges much like it had softened her own.
Having moved into their family home at only twenty years old , this corner of the house became a place belonging only to her. — a quiet refuge where thoughts could wander freely without interruption. Here, she had watched storms gather over distant hills, children would race carelessly long into the auburn sky lit evenings, and the seasons arrived so faithfully that they became companions of their own.
The woman could still feel her husband's lips press caressingly against her own for the first time under a towering orchid tree forty years ago. That summer of 1986 she had married the love of her life. A man whose arms still embrace her lovingly under that same orchid tree each day.
The view beyond the glass no longer resembled the one she first knew.
But the woman has never forgotten how happy she was in those moments, often daydreaming in gratitude at her journey of a lifetime.
Minding the crooked staircase and its steep descent, the woman traced her hands along the wall as she carefully made her way downstairs. Now more awake, the brisk walk from the dim hallway into the busyness of the kitchen felt deeply rewarding. With more years behind her than days ahead, she had learned to cherish the small mercies of movement her body still granted her.
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