Three messages

The moment before I was to enter, I stood in the dark hallway with the daylight from the bedroom framing the door. A soft, blue light. It is late Winter, early January. Is it our 120th birthday.

Someone opened the door further, she was propped up on pillows. The duvet tucked up under her chin. Her hair was short, curled, set and pure white. Her smiling face was round and tanned. We did not look alike and I couldn’t imagine that I would have cut my hair that short.

I walked into the room, with its wooden ceilings and floor, a nest of beams bowing to remind me this house was breathing and staying close to her.