The Gentle Breeze
         As I drive in to the calm, long, and eerie path, wishing that I didn’t have to come to this place to visit her. I park my car on the side. As I see her, I step on to the grass, take my shoes off. I have always believed that it’s a form of disrespect to go to see her with my shoes on. Walking carefully, I make sure not to step on to any marked ones, I make my way towards her. I sit on the ground, next to her, I greet her, tell her how much I have missed her. I tell her  what’s new; how things are changing in the family, how the kids are doing in school, I give her all the new family gossip in detail. It feels good to talk to her. The weather is beautiful today, it’s early June, but the sun has been generous with her warmth. There is gentle breeze, warm, yet soft, so soft that it feels like she is running her fingers through my hair, kissing my cheeks, and holding me in her warm arms. Remembering her beautiful smile, her soft eyes, her gentle voice, always calling my name and the way she always had food ready as I would go to her house. While I’m reminiscing,  I hear the traffic noise from afar, reality kicks in, I check the time, I must leave now. Just as I kneel to kiss her tombstone farewell until next time, feeling as I’m saying goodbye to my best friend, eyes full of tears, wishing that my Mother  was still alive.



Comments:
There are no messages yet
iwrite
Short Story
Drama
writing iwrite
Bookmark and Share

You must log in to rate.
This has not been rated.

© 2014 WritingRoom.com, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WRITING | POETRY WRITING | CREATIVE WRITING | WRITE A BOOK | WRITING CONTESTS | WRITING TIPS