Hold On But Let Go

  Penny glanced over at the counter. Her tea was getting cold. No steam circled around the blue enamel edge. Flecks of light danced off the copper tea pot beckoning her to lighten her tone, lighten her heart. The paper in front of her was blurry as she scanned the lines of her electric bill. She pushed it away and picked up a letter to her mother. Penny liked writing real letters but this morning her writing seemed to be getting as cold as the tea in her cup.   

Oil on board by Karen Dale

    Still, with all the dullness inside, the light from the window sparkled. She stretched her legs moving the tight joints. "Go outside!' How could she take a walk when there was so much to do, so many things to fix? She reached for the orange segment. Juice escaped in rivelets down her chin. Brushing away the moisture a long breath escaped from throat. 

                   Perhaps she could let go, just this morning.  

This is a post that is part of a series entitled, "Pictures and Paragraphs". See an index of these posts here.