Sunflowers-Fiction

Old woman whistles
A melody from her youth.
Remembrance of joy.

She, long out of diapers but not enough to run without falling. Her great-grandfather, long since his hair wasn’t white but only recently needing a cane. He smiled well-kept dentures at her, she smiled back, less two front teeth. They sat on the back porch, facing a field of sunflowers already taller than her. The sundial whispered midday iced tea, and he hobbled to the kitchen. Her legs unable to reach the ground kicked furiously with excitement. As she almost spilled out of her rocking chair he backed through the screen door, giving her a displeased look. She leapt out of her chair and clapped as he set down the service. He bowed as gracefully as his back allowed and she responded with her forehead to her knees. They sat down, both hands on her glass, one slightly trembling on his. Their eyes never left each other as they finished and laughter filled their hearts. He refilled their glasses, singing a tune his great-grandmother taught him before he left the old country. With joy and sadness he remembered a woman he loved much. She counted the sunflowers, until broken glass shocked her joy.

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