| The lady sits in her chair by the window quiet and chilled by the draft for to get up from the chair would be all the effort she has left. She can bear no more movement, no more change, no more warmth. Silence is where she lives now.
It has not always been this way.
There was a time when sunshine comforted her and the breeze was a welcome companion. There were moments that she forgot all that she knew and could not see what was. To be back there in that place, the path has been overgrown by weeds untrodden, by soil undisturbed, by wilderness. It is lost in the labrynth of memory, turned back into fairytale.
For that is how it began.
The lady sits in the chair and waits for no one, anticipates nothing, and wishes no more. |
