When dementia infiltrated my grandmother’s mind all we could do was wait and see where it would take her. It started with the youngest grandchildren and moved its way up the lineage. When it came to me I had seen it coming. For my mother it was different. The disbelief and melancholy I saw in my mothers eyes was enough to show me what its like to not be recognized by your own mother.
Tiny ripples in a pond, vibrating the lily pad homes of frogs. Dense moss, moist from the constant rainfall that captivates the area I inhabit.
Exchange of secrets, tucked beneath warm covers on a night different that others. A white candle, in a red jar, illuminates the distance between us. It glows til we come together.
Molded by howling winds, and bent by the rocks I was thrown against; my body has become an object welded by the natural. Layers unfold, blooming with the coming together of sun and showers. In the sweet summer it rises high above the ridges, dosed with alpenglow in the late evening. By the fall I am wilted, ready for a winter slumber.
I am a single ice cube, dropped into a steaming bowl of soup, trying to cool out the situation. My feet wander me towards places familiar, and through deep, lush, green forests when no one is looking. I love the interactions with others both, big and small. The missed faces that people hurry by. Cool nights, in a chair, by a bed, with a friend that I have missed.
I love those who once loved me, still do, and will at some point.
A thin sheet of flour covers everything. Sweat pools on the eyebrows of the person tending to the oven. In the background a lady is singing to the room full of people. A server is pouring beer. The manager is watching the floor, biting his nails.
Green moss clung to old growth that coated the ridge side. A few patches of snow littered the ground below the evergreens. Overcast with a touch of rain. There is water trailing down the path.
Everyone’s mouth is closed. The table is set for 4, only 3 are seated. Painted eggs and tulips decorate the table. Lights are off but but sun brightens the room. Fathers eyes are on the son. Mothers eyes are on the front door.