It wasn't a job I wanted. I thought maybe being out at the picnic table on the screened porch would make a difference. I spread out the picture frames, picked up the scissors, put it down again. Maybe if I made myself an espresso, the caffeine would give me enough of a kick to get through the box of photos. I picked up my cup and started toward the door. Behind me, outside the screen, a mockingbird warbled. I slammed the door, scaring it off. I set my cup in the sink. The sink could use another polish. And wasn't there laundry I could be folding? My sister should be doing this. It was her idea. She should be the one staring at the faces of dead people when they used to be happy.
Funny how one's life can be boiled down to a few trinkets. And questions. Photo frames that were no doubt bought to be filled but remain empty. Was it because of a lack of time or effort? Who could know which once we were gone? The tiny cup that suggests its owner once enjoyed one of those fancy coffee-ish drinks like espresso or latte. Or was it part of a set for a tea party that may or may not have happened? An old watch in need of winding. Was it a keepsake or was the owner actually one of those people who wore wind-up watches in a digital age? The scissors, however, raised the biggest question: was the owner actually in the process of doing something with the frames when the end came? Or were all of these items merely gathered here, perhaps while clearing out a drawer or closet? Were they to be given to someone or donated because their owner no longer had a use for them?Trinkets and questions...questions and trinkets...why did they go hand in hand and leave us unsatisfied?
That's a lovely contemplative paragraph.