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I have often thought my parents didn’t raise me … I merely drifted up, like a detached leaf floating on an unpredictable breeze.

I’m not sure how long I stood there gazing over the fields, letting my mind wander at will, only to come back to this same thought.  I don’t know where the feeling comes from except that I can’t remember much in my childhood on which to hang my hat.  I can’t find any flags that mark a beginning, or an ending, loss or elation, wonder or disillusionment.  Just placid waters on a mild summer day with intermittent clouds and isolated showers, like the view through the window.  How then did I become the person I am, and what events directed my journey?

My middle daughter had prompted this mood.  Grown up now and a mother herself she said, “I know you as Mum.  I’d like to know who Lynne is.”

Now in my sixth decade you’d think I could answer that question but instead it raises questions, primary being, “Do I know who Lynne is?”  And that was followed by a desire to know what had shaped me.

I looked down at the dining table sitting in this sequestered corner of the living room.  I am proud of our modest home, more so because I have lived in much less.  I love the hardwood floors and the few pieces of refinished furniture that fill this space. It is always lit with light flowing in the tall windows through which I gaze.   In years now lost to time, in another life with another husband, when I dreamed of such a home, it included many of the refinements Graham had built into this one – a front porch, a large entrance hall, counters in the kitchen that are taller than standard to accommodate my height.  Even the long curving driveway had been part of my plan.  The foresight of Graham in building these features into his home long before he and I ever found our way back to each other make a good argument for fate and destiny, if I believed in such things.

The Daily Post writing prompt is: Foreshadow

8 thoughts on “Foreshadow

  1. Of the many Foreshadow posts I’ve read on this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge, this is one of the best–you’re writing is engaging because it is simple, yet holds a richness that paints a picture in my mind. I wonder if being a painter and writer has benefits to both forms of art?


    1. Mara, my response is late in coming as I’ve been away but your comment means a lot. I am just starting out on this journey of writing and am hoping I will find my way. Your comment is very encouraging. Thank you.


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