A blanket of death warms her feet.
Only Grandfather knows the moment: Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Alive but not living, she waits.
Memories float like autumn leaves, twirling on the wind.
Gliding tranquility of twilight.
Calls to a little boy are answered by the touch of man.
Yes, pull the blanket up.
How kind.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Another face, another half-remembered thought.
Another vibrant leaf drained of color.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
The last leaf takes its time; dangles, dodges, dances.
Darkness embraces her in a cascade of peace.
A stitch in time is she, whisked away by astral weavers.
Tick, tock.
Tick…