We didn't boil the kettle. We agreed on mandarins instead. The shell of skin fell away into my palm and the fruit was incense between us. I tasted a lifetime of Autumn sun-soaked lunches, and the cool juice was soothing.
And we talked of the motivation that has fled and the deep fear that this time will not end. We nodded about the loss of space, and order and self - she has been invaded, overtaken. And I can say little. She has always 'done the needful', but now they seem to need her to be everything and nothing all at once.
I watched her weariness and that she had started to tell herself that she is nothing. And I offered her a sweet golden nugget, a brief taste of nectar sweetness. She accepted the fruit but found it hard to hear the words. A tentative smile that disbelieved me.
And yet this conversation was not all heaviness or darkness. It was veined and traversed by gold and other light. Woven together they are able to withstand the being overwhelmed or the helplessness. As she laughed or told of joy flashes she affirmed her not-nothing-ness.
This variegated gold and grey, this Spirit-shot life in her heartened me. This is why she can go on. This is her refined-gold heart - that cares for a dying husband and bears with a needy daughter. That reaches love in many directions despite her worn heart. It is a mystery.
sharing with a prompt from three - Gold
and with Imperfect prose