Aged tears

The old rocking chair squeaked to the rhythm of my knees. Slowly and with reason. looking down upon the sleeping face of my great grandchild as she slept in a cocoon of warmth and contentment. A soft breeze swept through the open porch tiny whirlpools of autumn leaves dancing across the wooden floor. One of my aged tears fell onto her cheek and she moved ever so slightly but didn’t wake.

Why did I cry? Maybe it was my knowledge of impending departure and not being able to see her grow into a fine lady that would fulfill a dream. Maybe the one she was having at this moment? My dreams now seemed to revolve around the years past and not so much those yet to be. The breeze was getting cooler and I pulled her closer to me. My wisps of white hair danced across her face and made her smile. Her eyes opened, and we met for the first time. She looked puzzled but not scared. My bearded face and long white hair certainly wasn’t that of her mother. My weathered skin she touched with her tiny hands wasn’t that of the smoothness she was accustomed to.

I looked deep into her blue eyes and all my hopes and dreams for her seemed to filter through to her as she held my finger and smiled. A child is such a perfect gift we sometimes forget how lucky and blessed we truly are. Darkness found us both asleep on the old wooden porch until the softness of my granddaughter’s hand on my cheek woke me. Just another minute sweetie. Just another minute.

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