Old woman

Old Woman

I walked into the banquet hall filled with hundreds of people, some congregated in small groups. Many love struck couples were dancing to slow music and gazing deeply into each other's eyes.


In the corner of the room next to a wooden bench stood a woman with long wavy silver hair that ended at the middle of her back. Her thin deflated face was color less and her eyes were aqua blue with creases on the outer corners. She had slender constricted lips outlined by age lines. Her chin was petite and sharp. Her neck was long, thin, and saggy. She was dressed in a white blouse that buttoned up the front, and a long gray skirt that touched her ankles. In her bony hands was a folded knit blanket.


While I was surveying the woman, a young boy with dark hair, glimmering emerald eyes and an undersized frame ran up to her eagerly. As they spoke she gazed at the young child as love filled her eyes, but in an instant her eyes were clouded with what seemed to be sorrow. A solitary tear gradually fell from her left eye. She handed the blanket to him. The young boy ran off enthusiastically to show his mother.


The frail woman sat down on the bench, took a deep breath, gathered her yarn into her tiny delicate hands, and started to knit. She sat on that bench for forty-five minutes
contently working away on her next project, oblivious of the party around her. She seemed so alone in her own little world.