She was an older woman, but she still had some fight left in her. Looking at herself in the drawing-room mirror, she turned slowly, eyeing her shape while drawing nearer to the reflection, tossing her hair in a coltish manner. She leaned into the glass, staring closely at her eyes, and the wrinkles underneath. Her face, though lined, still displayed the beauty for which she had once been known. She thought back to those days, reminiscing about loves won and loves lost. Her thoughts drifted back to Shangri-la, in particular the day she left, and the disappointment she felt on that day, upon learning that she would have to leave her true love behind. If only he had even a modicum of courage, her life would have been a lot different. Though, in retrospect, she had lived a full, complete and filling life.
Pushing off the mirror, she turned and walked slowly, but firmly down the hall towards the atrium. The atrium was her private garden that provided her a place to reflect on her life while keeping her hands busy creating tiny works of art. Her works of art were the plants she nurtured and cared for with love and devotion. Many of the plants seemed to preen as she approached, baring their flowers and leaves in adoration. She handled them all with love, choosing first one, then another on which to shower her care.
No comments:
Post a Comment