Anybody can recognize my grandmother from the large glasses that rest on her nose or from the red locks of hair that grace her ears in a short fashion, but I have my own unique way of recognizing her.
Only I can view a rising sun and visualize my grandmother watching it alongside me. Under the sun’s welcoming warmth, I can feel her naturally rosy skin and can smell her presence amongst the dawn’s fresh dew. Morning songbirds sing of her presence along with the church prayers hushed to the Lord and the hymns being played on her piano. Vibrant paint fills the air with the sweet smell of color being carefully applied to an awaiting canvas by my grandmother’s steady hand and with a comforting hug, I can remember the silky fabric of her many church dresses. Allowing the juice of a bold, red apple to flow across my tongue, I can taste my grandmother’s love for the fruit and her pride of the color, loving the bold image that red gives, a reflection of her own personality.
Only I can describe my grandmother with these words, remembering the joyous moments spent together.
Just so you know. I don’t understand what is being said in your post, but I don’t think I’m suppose to understand.
“The path of the Ninja is always shrouded in darkness.”
See Shuandra? this post is lifey…
What do you mean, Matt?
Oh, its a debate I have with shaundra. She writes something, I call it deathy, it flares up. To me, this post is about Life! and nothing but