The Waltz of Life

She smiles and sings quietly to herself amid the clatter and din of the market. With a basket tucked under one arm and a child firmly in the other, she weaves elegantly through the crowd. Her gown is threadbare yet flowing. The pattern is faded yet bright. Her face is worn but her smile basks her wrinkled creases in youth.

She smiles and sings quietly to herself.

The waggling tongues bear judgment and the pursed faces secretly curse. Yet, the roar of the wind and the sharp taste of salt wipe clean any ill-sent word. The school bell rings, scattering birds into a protesting flurry. Children stream out the front door, freedom just a schoolyard away. Two children dash by her, the breeze swirling her skirts. Beaming faces and bare dirty feet, they glance back as she, with a nod, gives permission. Whooping and hollering, they race to the dock.

She smiles and sings quietly to herself.

As evening rushes over the day, she waits quietly in a rocking chair on an old, sagging front porch. The smell of supper lingers over the air mixing with the fresh, sea breeze. Her husband, worn from a long day of work, steps up behind her, bending down to softly caress her cheek with his weathered lips. A quiet passion exudes from their glance shared. 

The light dims down. The sun kisses the water in a parting embrace. The couple turns to go inside. Silence steals over the shore. The children’s giggles slowly fade into peace and the reassuring touch of the waves set the night to a smooth, waltz. The moon glides across the dark sky, as a lover draws near to long forgotten arms. 

The door to the cottage softly creaks open. She steps out into the crisp air, arms outstretched in a greeting embrace. She welcomes the night with a stolen sweetness. Wisps of hair dance across her face and her nightgown swirls around her pale legs. She smiles and sings quietly to herself.