Dreamscape

         The lady brushed the time-worn fingers of one hand across the canvas and smiled, a lifetime of memories rising from the depths of shining eyes that had seen too much through the years—and yet, too little, as well. She had laughed and cried, loved and lost. She had lived, and each breath had woven itself into the colorful rhapsody of her life: a glorious swan song to leave behind for the heart of the coming generations. It didn’t seem possible that this could be the end, but there it was: complete.

         “Mamma?” the tiny goldenhaired girl asked quietly, shifting a little on the lady’s lap. “What is it?”

         She chuckled, and the sound reverberated in the nearly empty room, setting the sparkling dust motes to dancing in the sunlight. “It’s the story of a life, my dear.” The story of my life.