Weathered-grey walls feebly held antique glass, as rusty wire cast a honeycomb pattern from the setting sun.
As I peered into the reflection of amber and gold, my mind’s eye caught a glimpse of gingham and apron strings.
In one fluid motion, she swept wispy strands of gray hair from her eyes, and gathered the edges of her apron together, to form a makeshift egg basket.
My heart wanted to run, with child-like glee, into the soft folds of her middle, breathing deeply the unconditional love of a grandmother past.
But, as soon as the ghostly image appeared…
It, just as quickly, vanished.
I wrapped my arms tightly around the visceral image, as grateful tears welled up, threatening to spill out.
And I offered thanks.
For sweet memories of simpler days.
And for love
Which will, forever, traverse the boundaries of time.
