Thursday, November 3, 2011
Her hand began to tingle just slightly. It had originated in her fingers but she had ignored it until it moved across her palm and throbbed. Still, she resisted opening her eyes. This happened at times; one or another of her body parts would beg for attention and she'd be drawn away. Careful to stay focused on keeping her eyes shut, she did allow her mind to wander quickly to her hand. There she felt her worn, crocheted blanket, tan and hand-rubbed thin throughout the years. If she saw it, she’d find herself in her bed. No! If she could just stay a little longer here. The blanket is with me here, she thought. And yes, now it was. She was sitting on the bank and there. There was the rush of the water on her feet. Her right hand fingered the blanket that lay beside her, grass prickling through its holes. See. There were other ‘things’ as well. He’d brought a picnic basket, plain. Mmm. What was it? When he brought food, it was simple but so delicious, so nourishing. She looked for him now. There. He was walking toward her, and the sight of him stabilized her and her heart swelled. She swallowed down hard any uncertainty, turning once more toward the basket. Had he remembered something to drink?