The Waiting Years

 

Her home is old, a rural farmhouse now all of

a century and a half old at a time when the

concept of energy efficiency was unknown

so she is given to inhabiting two main rooms of 

the story-and-a-half building, the two well enough

heated to warm her old bones nearing the century 

mark herself and alone since her husband died 

a decade earlier. Declining senses have left her 

the consummate lover of literature and music

abandoning the bursting book shelves that surround

her, though still listening to music her mind as 

robust as it ever was. She must now live the life 

of a recluse, vulnerable to the prowling of a menace

unseen and viral, so her memories vibrant and 

dear visit to strike up conversations with her. On 

special occasions she rings up old friends across the

seas never again to visit yet memories sharp enough 

to recall childhood and student years together and 

the dreadful unforgettable war years of deprivation

and fear. Now they live in peace and contemplative 

content examining the years behind, waiting.