Posted in Writings

Honey and Lavender

Miss Gretta

Miss Gretta opens her eyes to bright blinding sunbeams and the strong scent of honey and lavender. Her chair creaks as she scoots back and sits up straight – it seems the old gal slouched a bit in her sleep. She rolls up the loosely fitting sleeve of her sweater and checks her new digital watch with the big numbers – 9:19 a.m.

A small smile creeps across her face. “Oh good,” Miss Gretta crones, “Hank won’t be back for quite a few minutes.”

Feet on the floor and hands on the arms of the chair, Miss Gretta leans forward and ushers in a meteor shower of creaks and cracks from the chair, the floor, the walls for some reason, even her body. She waddles across the living room, each step taken a mountain climbed, and approaches the far wall. Hanging on a nail hammered through the blue wallpaper and into the frame of her home is a ceramic wallhang depicting a blue jay tending to its nest. Her kids gave this to her – not for her birthday nor for any holiday, but as a simple gift – just this morning when they stopped by. It’s a shame they had to leave. She brushes the pad of a finger down the top of the mother jay’s head. Her smile grows a little wider.

Miss Gretta waddles back to the rocking chair on the far edge of the living room. Facing away from it, she finds the arms with her hands and slowly lowers herself back down. Hank won’t be back for quite a few minutes yet; tacking another chunk of sleep onto her morning nap could only do good for Miss Gretta.

Old Miss Gretta

Miss Gretta opens her eyes to wide yellow sunbeams and the sweet scent of honey and lavender. Her rocking chair creaks as she scoots back and sits up straight – it seems the old gal slouched a bit in her sleep. She rolls up the loosely fitting sleeve of her black sweater and checks her new digital watch with the big numbers her kids gave her just this morning – 9:55 a.m.

A small smile creeps across her wrinkly face. “Oh good,” Miss Gretta crones, “Hank will be back in just a few minutes.”

Loafers on the soft floor and hands on the smooth arms of the rocking chair, Miss Gretta leans forward and ushers in a carpet bombing of creaks and cracks from the chair, the floor, the walls for some reason, even her tired body. She waddles across the area rug covering the floor, each step taken a mountain climbed, and approaches the far wall. Hanging on a nail hammered through the faded baby blue wallpaper and into the termite-infested frame of her home is a ceramic wallhang depicting a mother blue jay tending to its young. Her two kids gave this to her – not for her upcoming birthday nor for last Christmas, but as a simple gift – just this morning when they stopped by for a visit. It’s a shame they had to leave before Hank got back. She brushes the pad of her pointer finger down the top of the mother jay’s white head. Her smile grows a little wider.

Miss Gretta waddles back to the rocking chair Hank gave her on the far edge of the living room’s area rug. Facing away from it, she finds the arms with her hands and slowly lowers herself back down. Hank will be back in just a few minutes, but she can tack another chunk of sleep onto her morning nap anyway. It could only do good for old Miss Gretta, and Hank will surely wake her up when he comes in.

Poor Old Miss Gretta

Miss Gretta opens her eyes to dusty golden sunbeams and the faint scent of honey and lavender. Her trusty rocker creaks as she scoots back and sits up straight – it seems the old gal slouched a bit in her sleep. She rolls up the tattered, loosely fitting sleeve of her thin black sweater and checks her new digital watch with the big numbers her two kids gave her just this morning – 10:27 a.m.

A small smile creeps across her wrinkly face, breaking tiny cracks in her chapped lips. “Oh good,” Miss Gretta crones, “Hank won’t be back for quite a few minutes.”

Holey loafers on the soft rug and arthritic hands on the smooth, worn arms of the rocking chair, Miss Gretta leans forward and ushers in a cold thunderstorm of creaks and cracks from the chair, the floor, the walls for some reason, even her tired old body. She waddles across the patchy old area rug covering the living room’s floor, each step taken a mountain climbed, and approaches the far wall. Hanging on a nail hammered through the ripped, faded baby blue wallpaper and into the rotted, termite-infested frame of her dusty old bungalow is a ceramic wallhang depicting a young mother blue jay tending to its two new babies. Her kids Sally and Dally gave this to her – not for her upcoming ninetieth birthday nor for Christmas last month, but as a simple gift – just this morning when they stopped by to make her candles. It’s a shame they had to leave before Hank got back, he would have loved to see them. She brushes the vaguely numb pad of a finger down the white strip worn into the top of the mother jay’s blue head. Her smile grows a little wider, as do the cracks in her lips.

Miss Gretta drags her feet as she waddles back to the rocking chair Hank made for her on the far edge of the living room’s patchy area rug. Facing away from it, she finds the arms with her hands and slowly lowers herself back down. Hank won’t be back for quite a few minutes yet; tacking another chunk of sleep onto her morning nap could only do good for poor old Miss Gretta. If Hank ever gets home, surely he’ll wake her up when he comes in.


Hello Commons, this has been Honey and Lavender, the flash fiction story attached to the blue jay wallhang from rePurpp, the official store of The Hillside Commons. Click here to go to the store and check it out for yourself.

I also write fiction books, all of which you can read for free on my website. Click here to see the list.

Be well Commons~

Author:

I'm that guy who makes fiction books so he doesn't go insane.

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