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AbigailSauble

United States

Child of God
Pro-life
Photographer
Marine sister
Blogger
English Country Dancer
Dessert enthusiast
Sun-Child
Reader
Musician
Singer
Artist
ISFJ-A
Wind Chaser
Volleyball devotee
Movie quoter
Tea drinker
Airsofter
Cat lover
Youtuber

Message from Writer

' "Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet My unfailing love for you will not be shaken, nor My covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD.' ~ Isaiah 54:10

Proud USMC sister!

FAVORITE QUOTES:

"Most people never meet their heroes;
I grew up with mine." ♥

“And the one good thing about being down here, is that we’ll save on funeral expenses.” ~ Puddleglum (The Silver Chair)

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. ~ John F. Kennedy

How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. ~ Winnie the Pooh

https://wheniwasanartist.blogspot.com/

Thoughts of a Motherless Child

January 4, 2019

FREE WRITING

2
I press my face against the cool glass of the window. 
   Steam swirls and dances as I exhale. My hands rest gingerly on either side of my face on the clear pane. I know they'll leave fingerprints, but I don't really care. 
   I want to go outside. 
The constant rain has finally stopped, and while gray clouds block out any sunlight, I know the grass, the birds are calling to me. 
   Aunt Jen wouldn't want me to go outside on a cold day like this. But my legs are yearning to skip through puddles, and my lungs are begging for fresh air. 
   Quickly I survey the cozy livingroom behind me. 
The flames in the wood stove are burning down to embers, and Reggie, the fluffy gray-and-white Maine Coon cat, is snoozing on the floral couch with her cute nose tucked beneath her tail. 
   Aunt Jen is nowhere to be seen. 
I step away from the glass to look myself in the face. 
Two serious, dark gray eyes, which Aunt Jen says reminds her of my deceased mom, stare back at me. 
   I've been told I'm pretty, but I'm only reminded of the framed photo beside my bed, and those same big eyes peeking back. 
   Sometimes it's best not to think of what I had. 
   With another glance around the room, I tip-toe to the dozen coat hooks lining the white wall by the front door. Keeping my eye fixed on the open doorway from which my aunt is likely to emerge, I slip into my worn, black raincoat. Then, after easing my navy blue baseball cap over my light blonde ponytail, and sliding stocking-ed feet into my rubber boots, I twist the metal knob and slip outside. 
   It's colder than I thought, and the wind blows wispy strands of hair into my face. Mud tugs at the bottoms of my boots as I walk away from the poured-rock sidewalk leading to the front door. 
   And I take a deep breath. 
   The air smells of clouds and campfire smoke, and maybe just the smallest hint of spring, still months away. 
   A variety of song birds peck away at Aunt Jen's suet feeder, which hangs from an L-post beside the brown vegetable garden. I recognize a few of them from my mom's bird book. 
   The big, greedy one is a Towhee, and there are dozens of brown chickadees and black-headed Juncos. A King Sparrow darts away at first glance of me, and a pair of fat robins lurk below, scratching at the moist earth for bugs. And as every winter, a flock of thirty or more Gold Finches strip the lavender bushes of their gray-purple seeds. 
   The birds are a community all their own, and a shadow darkens my face as I wish I belonged somewhere, too. 
   Aunt Jen tells me that my mom used to call me her 'Little Sparrow', because I loved watching them and listening to their jubilant song. She would always joke that maybe I would one day fly off to join them. 
   But then it happened where my mom was the one to 'fly off'. Though not in any way of her own accord. 
   It was often, while Aunt Jen retold childhood stories, that I wished I had a memory of my mom. 
   But there was none. 
Only a cold, dark shadow where her face should be. 
   Aunt Jen never spoke about my dad, and I never asked. I figured some things were better left in the past. 
   I inhale another deep breath. The cold is beginning to creep inside the collar of my coat, and my fingers are going numb. 
   With a final look around, I walk back inside to find Aunt Jen surveying me with an unreadable expression on her face. Guilt, and a little mischief flood my cheeks, and I slowly take off my coat to hang it on a hook. 
   After a second, Aunt Jen turns back to the kitchen counter where she was rolling some white dough out. Flour decorates the front of her red t-shirt. 
"I'm making cinnamon rolls. You interested?" Her tone is light-hearted. She isn't vexed in the least. 
   After taking off my boots and setting them neatly beside each other, I slide up next to her and smile. Aunt Jen is my family, and no one can make better cinnamon rolls than her. 
   "More than interested. Need any help?"

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1 Comment
  • AJ - Izzy

    Hey, contest results are up!
    https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/98265/version/186834


    9 months ago