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John Merrick |
Beach Rose |
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Margaret could feel the chill even before she opened the door to the front porch. Greyish clouds rushing across the sky seemed to push patches of blue ahead of them. The hanging baskets on the front porch were swinging wildly and the water of the Sound was dotted with white caps.
She had dreaded this day, trying unsuccessfully during the warmth of summer to push it into her subconscious, but now it was here. Why couldn’t I have had a few more days, she thought? It won’t be long now before he calls to tell me he’s coming. Well I’m at least going to have my morning coffee. Nothing can take that away from me.
She deftly maneuvered her walker to the kitchen and got the water boiling while she measured the coffee beans and ground them. It was extra work to use fresh beans, but her morning coffee was one of the highlights of her day. She held the cup to her nose and smelled deeply. I can still enjoy this, she thought, no matter where I might be. The trouble is, are there enough of these enjoyments to make it worthwhile? Placing the cup on the tray of the walker, she carefully pushed it out to the front room. She sat in the big chair facing the window and looked out at the porch and beyond to the yard with its uncut grass and weeds and then the hedge of beach roses partially blocking the view of the small rocky beach and the water of the Sound. All summer she had meant to trim the hedge, but now that was just one more thing on her list that she had not accomplished.
Far out was a white sail hard over. That’s me, she thought, going out while the others stay on shore where it’s warm, taking my last sail. The depression rose within her and she fought it. Come on, come on Maggie. Live the moment, enjoy the coffee. It’s still up to you. You call the shots right up to the end.
On impulse she pushed the walker back to her cluttered bedroom and found a wool sweater that she put on. As she pulled it over her head it gave an invigorating sense of fall, of familiar old warm clothes and going out into the brisk day to walk in the fields behind the house. That was when fall was her favourite season, to be anticipated even more than summer. Like having the icing to eat after you finished the cake she liked to say. She worked her way back to the front room and went out through the patio door, carefully balancing her coffee. The wind took her breath
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