Gentle Hands II

Her gentle hands again came to rest on the glass. Now they were wrinkled and swollen and ached from arthritis. The joy of flowers on her sill was still enough to squeeze those hands around the scissors. "on an angle, always at an angle, they won't die as soon that way" More often now her mind went back, flew back the lonely nights with him, the silent nights without the child. For years she couldn't cry, now she couldn't stop, now she had no one to tell, no one to listen, nothing to hide. She saw him last at a wedding, a wedding of fools and kittens, a wedding of tears and laughter, a wedding of day and night, darkness and light, their wedding.