Coffee at Twilight

She took the "world's greatest grandma" cup from the tissue paper, poured the hot coffee, and leaned back in her rocking chair.

Emma closed her eyes and felt the soft breeze mixed with the warm sun rays strike her face. The coffee cooled on a nearby stand. She heard the wind strike up a conversation with the trees, as they creaked and moaned and spoke of ancient times to their traveling companion. Emma loved twilight. This is so much better than doing the dishes. She reached over, wrapped her aged hands around the cup, and sipped her coffee.

Eyes still closed, she strained to hear the distant waves of the ocean crash against some forgotten boulder at the base of some forgotten cliff. The beauty and power she pictured in her mind.

Then in a whisper, the wind carried on it a new sound – a black hawk's song to its young -- very faint at first, but it grew. The echoes struck her with a sense of awe and wonder. Where was this bird? I've not heard it before. A new visitor perhaps?

The coffee smell lingered in her nose a moment and flowed down her throat, and filled her lungs with warmth. She felt more and more a part of the whole scene, and she smiled.

She strained all the more, as the waves grew softer. The tide’s going out. The bird’s call was much louder as she pictured it soaring above the swaying trees and silhouetted against the dimming sky. She sipped. The squirrels in the wood nearby chattered. Time for bed soon. Emma chuckled. They are so funny.

Her coffee empty, her senses full, she retired to her home. For an eightieth birthday, and nearly blind, this was as good as she could have hoped.


300 words
Flash Story Contest Entry