Time of Life
~Journal of A Coroner~
Pound cake…still cooling on the porch.
Roast beef in the oven, the aroma traveling from room to room…and just outside the rustic windows, the birds singing melodies of old, heard down the country road. Just past the rocking chair, the frames hold memories in photographic form…taken when the house was full of life, absent of loneliness. The piano sits quiet in the corner, pages still open to the last song, the favorite song that brought many to surround the ivory and join in song.
A dimly lit lamp casts melancholy upon all it can reach.
If you listen closely, you can almost hear the sounds of the blades pushing over the summer lawn…and the smell of fresh cut grass that grew naturally from the same soil for many generations. Skirting the trees that made the lemonade that was sold in jars to the thirsty passers by.
An old tire swinging from the old Oak tree, the rope weathered and strong.
It suddenly occurred to me.
I missed what I never had.
I wondered how long she was the last of the sounds in this old house.
I picked up her slippers that padded the hardwood floors forever in the
days…until today…and placed them by her chair.
I have no idea why, it just seemed right I suppose.
How do I pronounce her time of death, when she is still breathing life into this home?
She…just breathed life into me.
Time of life…Easter Sunday 1952.
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