Elsa wasn’t supposed to have survived the winter. She as old. She had congestive heart failure. Frail and fading, she had endured the long dark winter. Every morning, she was disappointed when she woke up alive.
Then spring came. The air softened. The days lengthened. She wanted to feel the sun on her old bones at least one more time before Death came to call.
Her son set up her favorite outdoor chair, setting it firmly in the late-snow-slushed ground.
They found her an hour later, upright, head resting on the back of her chair. At peace.