My Aunt Rosy-Fv

It was such a long time ago, but I still remember the day she came to live with us, my aunt, a young widow. Everybody called her Rosy, maybe because she had pink cheeks, her real name nobody remembered. My sister and I became her instant fans, not because she was such a beauty, we adored her for the way she treated us, she was so caring, so loving. The reason I now understand, she found in us her unborn children. In the evening after she finished her chores she would tell us stories she heard from her husband, a soldier, stories of the lands he had gone, of the battle he had fought and won. We could see a tiny drop of tear shine in the corner of her eye. As she told why the bold soldier didn’t return a sense of pride flashed, remembering her husband in those stories, she found him come alive. In the gleam of the twilight hour her lively face glowed like a flower in the crimson of the setting sun, and aunt Rosy turned into a rose. Her real name nobody remembers, but then I ask, “what’s in a name”, for a rose is a rose is a rose. March 12, 2019