One White Rose

Soft white curtains stirred in the gentle wind,sunlight casting a gentle glow on the mohogany table beside the bed,illuminating the crystal vase sitting there,and the well worn book sitting beside it.The words were etched on the cover in gold gilt,but faded almost until they matched the color of the book itself.

Next to it,the bed sat empty,the patchwork quilt worn with age,but bright and cheerful,the bedspread beneath matching the fabric of the curtains,both being materials of a much earlier age.The pale coral walls gave off a gentle pink glow in the warmth of the sun,brightening the room.

Pictures adorned the walls here and there,smiling faces with period clothing and some with modern clothing,all ages and mostly female,surrounding a large cross hanging over the bed.The atmosphere was one of comfort,ease,peace,something the house had known in the past few years.

The owner of the room,silver haired and sporting a pair of sparkling blue eyes stepped over the threshold,carrying an ornately painted sewing basket as if it were a delicate treasure.snowy white sneakers made no sound as they crossed the dark wood floor,but the swish of her dress could be heard in the room and the sound of the basket being dropped down on the bed were oddly out of place in her surroundings.

She lowered herself onto the bed,set about her sewing,just as she had for the past half century,contentedly sewing a pattern into a small scrap of cloth,glancing up to smile as a tiny prism flickered on the far wall,reflected from the crystal vase.

She watched it for a moment,then returned to her work,ignoring the gradual change from daylight to darkness,working quickly on the pattern,suddenly urgent,never looking up or pausing to take a rest….

Time passed quickly that summer,and soon the quiet,warm days became noticeably cooler,the sun a little less brighter in the sky.The children came by less often than before now,and still the owner of the house set to her sewing,the tiny picture taking life beneath her fingers,the delicate white blossom seeming almost to glow against the slightly darker cloth.

One of her grandchildren happened upon her sewing during a visit,she found the young,golden haired girl fingering the unfinished material with a delighted smile,gently took it from her with one of her own.”Its not finished yet.”The child gave her a small,knowing smile and ran off to play,leaving the woman with a slightly puzzled look.She moved to the front room,beside the fireplace,basking in the welcome warmth,feeling the soft cushion of the chair beneath her as she sat down,set to work once more,needle flashing with tiny pinpricks of light as it caught the firelight.

The season passed slowly,as was its wont,and with it,the progress of the little cloth followed suit.It was noticed,too,that the blue eyes no longer sparkled,and seemed dimmed,like the winter sky.In contrast,the single flower seemed to grow brighter upon the cloth.

Sunlight found the woman pale,but happy,and the work done.She quietly laid the cloth down beside the vase,and closed  her eyes in sleep.It was in this way that her  oldest grandchild found her the next morning,andbeside  her on the table,a single white rose sitting in the vase in full bloom,,her sewing cloth folded neatly alongside it,a gentle smile on her lips.