|
Origami Swans By Marge Simon
Mrs. McGruder sat on the front porch. Smudgy purple veins trailed down
her legs, but her hands were alert as she fashioned an origami swan. She
did this from memory, for all the swans were gone and her eyes were
nearly blind. There were a dozen and more bright paper birds in the
basket beside her rocker.
The afternoon was warm for spring. But then all days were warmer now,
feels good for the bones if you are old. And Mrs. McGruder was very old,
even older than Greatgran.
"Hattie, I thought you'd like something nice and cold to drink,"
Greatgran pushed open the screen door and set a tray down on the little
table beside Mrs. McGruder. There was a flask of cider and two mugs,
which Greatgran filled nearly to the top. She put one in Mrs. McGruder's
hand.
They sat quietly sipping the cider until the sun wandered underneath the
elms. Just before the light faded, Greatgran gasped and stood up.
"See that, Hattie? I think they're coming back. A whole flock coming in
just above the horizon."
"Can't be," said Mrs. McGruder. She set the mug down and picked up
another square of paper. Greatgran was already maneuvering her bulk down
the porch steps to the lawn for a better view.
"Yes, yes! I see them, Hattie. A whole line of them coming towards us."
"Those are bats," said Mrs. McGruder, not looking.
"Bat's aren't white!" Greatgran heaved herself toward the gate. Her
breath caught as she stumbled on a rock in the path. The grassy slope
rose to meet her.
Mrs. McGruder finished folding the swan and was about to put it in the
basket when a rustling startled her. A flash of milky feathers and it
was gone. She shook her head and shrugged.
It was almost time for dinner. She wondered where Greatgran had wandered
off to. It didn't matter. There were plenty of paper squares left.
About the Author
|