She Watches the Sun

She has been living in the house by the River. She has watched Spring come and go. And Summer. Now Autumn is fading into Winter. Instead of sitting on her long porch watching the Sun set, she is standing inside her house warmed by the fire looking out her big window watching the Sun rise.

The light dances on her wooden floors creating patterns that contain the secrets of the Universe. She is tired of secrets but not of silence. In silence she watches another day dawn wondering if she will find the courage to speak today, wondering if he is still lurking in the darkness.

New beginnings are never completely new. There is always something slowly dying but still there in the shadows of the mind. Time. They say it takes time. Recovery takes time but she thinks it is the burying of the dead that takes time.

And so she waits. She no longer counts the sunrises and sunsets. She watches and sighs with contentment at the knowledge that the Sun always rises and always sets, that the Moon dances with the Sun in counterpoint, always rising and setting, too. There’s a kind of magic in that, she thinks, a kind of strength.