Dancing in Sunbeams
Rose could visualize the little country church, the chorus of Crows flying back and forth over the gabled roof; its white washed siding. Not too far away stood a row of Birch trees beside a shallow creek winding its way through an open field green with Johnson grass. She pictured a group of black feathered Angels following a funeral hearse down the old dirt road. The rocker on the weathered porch unmoving, the sun would be glowing through tattered curtains and dancing in the nearby cracked mirror. Rose felt empty and that childhood was dead as was her beloved Grandmother.
“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO ALL MOTHER’S”