I write about my life and life itself seen through my eyes for who can write through the experiences of others if not their own?

Monday, June 20, 2011

The White Picket Fence and The Tree

The door opens at the turn of the key. The house smells clean. She quickly inspects her surroundings. Everything is in place just like it was in the morning. The same way it was a month ago, a year ago.

She slightly opens the clean blinds and admires her picket fence. The grass perfectly manicured and cut often to prevent dandelions from disturbing the green, contours the property.

She walks by her dining room and moves the candle holder to the exact middle of the table. She passes the pictures hung in a straight line on her walls. At the backdoor she smiles at her yard. It looks bigger now. She remembers the tree that gave her shade, a shade that at the time she thought she needed. She had it removed a few years ago on this same date. It had been there a long time withstanding a few storms, but it was time to cut it. She was happy to have made that decision.

A siren disturbs her stillness and she walks back to the kitchen and continues to her room. Tonight she might skip dinner.

She turns the lights off. In her big bed she listens to the sound of her solitude. Everything is in place, just the way she likes it.