Will you forgive me if post another one? I have a better idea, and I really wanted to write it. I may take down my first effort, which I really don’t like very much 🙂
Every day, in rusty black, Yvette hobbled to the square that held her family’s old home.
Every day, she lowered her body to sit on a bench, folding her gnarled hands over the head of her cane. Every day, she visualized the gardens and the birds that had lived there in such joy.
Every day, she hated war and loss.