Post by MEDEA KEKELIDZE on Jul 4, 2011 12:39:31 GMT -5
A soft breeze ruffled Medea's curly brown hair and the large white wrap blouse she was wearing. Her elbows rested on her legs, covered by the long flowered skirt she had brought with her from home. She should not have worn the skirt, she knew. The sight of it made her nostalgic, made her yearn for the days when her sons would sit in it as she read them stories, and when her husband would lay his head across her lap. How she wished she could run her hands through their hair one more time! O her sons! O her husband, the man he was!
But they were gone, the two slain by her own hand, and the other in mourning, and possibly scouring the world for her so he could take his revenge. Let him take it, she felt some days. She felt exhausted, even though she had done little since arriving in the States. The pain was too much for her at times.
Such days found her in random places around the city. Anywhere was better than the choking air of her apartment when she had these spells. Today she was sitting on a bench in the Botanical Gardens, and she had in tow a large black purse that did not match the rest of her gently toned outfit. It, of course, was filled with bags of birdseed. She had once seen someone hand-feeding chickadees in the gardens, and had begun to do the same. Though they were but birds, tending them helped soothe her mother's instincts to nurture. Perhaps two of these birds were her sons, come away with her to keep watch over her in her new world.
"Ouch!" she exclaimed after a bird swooped in and pecked at the seeds in her hand a little too eagerly. The bird had drawn blood, but didn't seem to notice, but merely went digging for more. "You're a reckless one," she told the bird affectionately, oblivious to how mad she might look talking to a chickadee.
But they were gone, the two slain by her own hand, and the other in mourning, and possibly scouring the world for her so he could take his revenge. Let him take it, she felt some days. She felt exhausted, even though she had done little since arriving in the States. The pain was too much for her at times.
Such days found her in random places around the city. Anywhere was better than the choking air of her apartment when she had these spells. Today she was sitting on a bench in the Botanical Gardens, and she had in tow a large black purse that did not match the rest of her gently toned outfit. It, of course, was filled with bags of birdseed. She had once seen someone hand-feeding chickadees in the gardens, and had begun to do the same. Though they were but birds, tending them helped soothe her mother's instincts to nurture. Perhaps two of these birds were her sons, come away with her to keep watch over her in her new world.
"Ouch!" she exclaimed after a bird swooped in and pecked at the seeds in her hand a little too eagerly. The bird had drawn blood, but didn't seem to notice, but merely went digging for more. "You're a reckless one," she told the bird affectionately, oblivious to how mad she might look talking to a chickadee.
