I am missing Brenda, who I used to bump into at the bus stop often. At 90, she radiated such positivity and charm, that just meeting her would make my day.
She was petite, always smiled at strangers, had a kind word for cranky kids in the bus, and a sweet understanding nod for tired mums.
Her gait never belied her age. She lived alone, happy in her space, pottering in her garden, visiting the town centre, taking gentle strolls in the park, waving at squealing toddlers rushing down the slide, patting run-away dogs.
What a difference it made to a lot of us, seeing her mere presence every day. Always dressed immaculate, with a slick of coral lipstick, a scarf in pastel shades around her neck, beige coat and small trim handbag held neatly. Quite a dame with none of that attitude.
One day, her gardener came, knocked on her door, didn't hear back then went away. Someone dialled her cell phone, it rang... and rang..
A gentle breeze swept through the crack of her windows. Birds chirped, people walked by, children ran to school, buses stopped and started again. Spring sunshine shone bright and sparkly. And Brenda was asleep in her bed, never to wake up again...
A nice, concise and touching piece. If it's due to be formal, our part of a formal piece, it could use a tweak (although my untrained eye can only suggest '90' should be 'ninety') but otherwise I think it does itself proud.
Steve