The Old Woman

Shawled against the damp night chill, she waits slumped low, crumbled in her favorite chair. Old and tired she waits. Eyes, once bright, cast a milky stare blind to all but distant memories and moments carved treasured wooden dolls faces and form now whittled away unrecognizable. Lines and furrows etch the frail countenance struggling in vain to see a fast approaching destiny. Daylight dims as twilight fades, and lurking in the corner there, A Dark Shadow smiles. . . . . as the old woman waits Alone.