4 Colly Birds
My story bit for today is as follows:
Ryan reached out and touched the door and it swung open easily under her fingers. Tinkling piano music spilled out and engulfed her, cloaking Ryan in the perfect joy of recognition. She stepped forward onto the pink shag carpeting that lined the train car. Sunlight spilled through the windows, curtained in rose-patterned gauze. Porcelain birds covered every surface, posed in flight, nesting, perched calling on branches. Those birds had been Nana’s pride and joy. In fact, the only time Ryan remembered being scolded by her beloved grandparents was the time that she had broken one, and then lied about it. The tears in her Papa’s eyes at the lie had been almost more than she could bear.
At the piano, oh at the piano sat her Nana and Papa themselves, lost to Ryan now for five years when Nana finally gave in to the dementia and illness that had claimed her completely two years before. Still, here they were, playing Heart and Soul as a duet as they always had. Ryan cried out and they turned, smiling widely, their dark eyes twinkling as they always had.
“So,” Nana said, exactly as she had when Ryan was a girl, “I see our girl has come for a visit.”
Ryan ran across the room, flinging herself into their arms, breathing in the scent of Nana’s rosewater, and Papa’s pipe tobacco. She scrubbed her face back and forth across the rough polyester of her grandfather’s cardigan, and stroked Nana’s long white hair where it spilled down her back.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Please, wander over to the website and see the offerings that the other Irons have left. While your there, read what this Iron Writer thing is all about and, if you think you have what it takes, sign up for a challenge.