In that very spot

729 words
Written for
Vagrant Vignettes contest
2024/5785

In that very spot
Her slender fingers gripping the drawing pencil. They once played piano, picked at guitar strings and held drum sticks.

The smell of a brand new sketchpad filled her nostrils.

She focuses on one tree, with its green leaves of summer slowly turning into a mixture of bright red, orange, and caramel. A hint of the next season to come.

Pencil in hand, trying to duplicate what is in her mind's eye. Slowly pausing to further enjoy the bark and markings brought on by its lifetime. A chunk here and there is missing. Initials with a heart long ago carved now barely legible.


"What" she thought "if I had been that tree, growing taller in that spot with nothing to do but enjoy the sun and its caressing warmth. Watching the people and the world changing. From only that place and only the passage of time to keep it company".

In that very spot, it lives its life and silently watches.

Inside she felt a combination of desperation and sadness. The pain in her body followed like a morbid shadow. She told herself it was nothing. Voices of others in her head saying “ there's nothing we can do about it, it's only old age.”



Along with the residual of negative people's words over the years.


Some days feeling like a scapegoat for the world's anger and frustration.

The harder she fought against the blackness of depression with every news story, the more it seemed the devil fought back. Until a story of kindness to an ailing animal on the street or something similar was like a healing balm in the moment.

Somehow it did matter how others were treated at least to her. Even if she couldn't control everything, she still cared.

People get old and are many times alone. Some have few if any to hear their tale's of woe.
Instead she gave empathy and support to others, even if they didn't follow her suggestions.
If God was listening, this day there was only silence for her.


Years of holding Rosaries and counting each bead in prayer. Later praying in other faiths. Learning about her mostly hidden Jewish roots and kindling the Shabbat candles though there was very little and few times with the communities in person. Told it was a blessing to live as a hermit and keep the faith in her diaspora.


It didn't seem to matter today for it seemed there was no miracle or option.


She wished that she could draw a picture of herself and use her white eraser to erase the pain and emotions inside. To be blank and empty and remember what fleeting joy felt like.
Instead, she drew the tree that she felt a kinship with. It was a living being that mattered.
That they could sit in silent knowing, in that very spot.

The grey was already starting to grow out of the purple dye she used to keep herself happy. The once smooth skin with freckles had turned to deep set smile and frown lines.
She used powder to even the tone and colors of metallic green and gold to highlight her deep blue eyes. Her eyelashes are still full and long!
Once she did these things to make herself attractive and hoped to find true happiness and love.

She never found the prince charming that was taught to her as a child, that he would take care of her. Instead, she learned to take care of herself and fend for herself and later the children she would have.
She would teach them to depend on themselves first yet none did, because some would rather believe the fairy tail that someone would take care of them better.

Now she was tired and worn out from a lifetime of doing good for others. Working hard but having little to show for it, having given but not enough to save for the future that came quickly enough.

She drew the tree as best she could and smiled at its likeness. It didn't look too much like a cartoon as she feared but had a life of itself. The tree would persevere.
Somehow she would have perseverance and would show whatever devil there may be, he couldn't beat her anyway. She smiled at the tree in that very spot Just knowing.
Knowing she had that day and perhaps tomorrow.