The high pitched breath of chimes tinkled, the porch swing creaked, and the lone hummingbird hovered about the ancient feeder.
Her sun weathered, wizened face graced a white, flowing gown that rustled in the wind..Baby's breath were interlaced in her long silver hair, carefully braided and curled at the crown of her head. Wafer thin hands poked out of billowing silk sleeves, white seamed stockings covered her legs, and patent leather heels shuffled with the sway of the splintered rocker.
She gazed down the lonesome road. Where was he?.
She'd been ready for sixty years.
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Comments: 30
April. Amanda's magic eight ball say's ask again...........ambiguity intended
Paper thin hands, love your descriptive writes, they do inspire me, Shell
As always.
Hope you have time to read my new story "Angels".