The subtlety of the morning sun streamed through the old fashioned window frames of The Langford’s mansion. In days like these, all that Rose wished to do was to go and bask in the lethargic outdoor weather. While the sparrows danced around the spruced up lawn ,she often rested on the hemp hammock that was trussed to the twin juniper trees in her garden. She would then knit an intricate jumpsuit for her husband with her agile fingers while he would sit on the porch with his head buried in the newspaper. A beautiful couple that lived their life more like ordinary. They were happy then. Until the furious storm ripped her life into minuscule pieces of nothingness.
Destiny they say. Who can probably defy it? Even the wisest have suffered slavery under the ruthless realm of it.
The inert nostalgia of her past stung her deftly and she felt the memories towering over her. She brushed aside the weak strands of her dark hair that fell on her eyes. Her hair had grown vulnerable to the changing weather or was it just because of the uncertainty in her disconcerted grief . The unspoken agony that she suffered alone . Loneliness can turn one’s life pale like the withering autumn leaves .Autumn. She missed the tenderness of it that she once treasured. It was one autumn day that her life had transformed.
If she hadn’t met him, she would be a happy woman indulged in all the activities that women of her age often do. She was 40 and a woman that longed togetherness. Her quiet soul seemed to have undergone the fears and terror of being a loner . She looked at her pale wheatish skin. The glow of her youth was no more there. It seemed to have been erased with years of negligence and solitary confinement.
She pursed her lips and closed her eyes tightly before they gave away to bitter tears. She tilted her head upwards and with a wail, let the reminiscences of her past wash over her profusely.
