In Grandma's House

In one corner of your room you’d hung a faded photograph of Charles Lindbergh and his plane in sepia covering a lighter-colored square of wall exactly the same size. He looked so dashing with his scarf and smile but his eyes were dark and sad (like yours) beneath his aviator’s cap and it was signed, “To Mildred.” Why did you hang it? Did you dream of flight as you plowed the land on your John Deere? By the time I thought to ask about the picture’s story you’d already flown too far ahead for me to hear your voice above the wind.