The old woman and the window
She sat in the corner room of the old farmhouse starring across the open field watching the rising sun.
Every morning, every day she would sit in her rocker and stare until the day was done.
Her eyes are unmoving, a seeming longing in her gaze; her hair was long, gray and unkempt.
Reflections of days long gone by were the only things visible in her old blue eyes.
Like ghost from another day and time fixed for eternity in eyes that no longer cried.
Every morning, every day year in and year out by this large old window she would sit.
Winter snows came; spring flowers in the large open field grew.
Whispers of summer danced on warm winds, then one fall day she was gone…
Whereunto she went I never knew.
Maybe she now lies in sleep in that open field that held her gaze.
Maybe she is now re-united with the ghost that once consumed her days.
J. Allen Wilson © 11/28/11