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Wednesday, July 20, 2011

From "The Flowers of Reminiscence" by Ronnie Ray Jenkins

The Flowers of ReminiscenceNellie Blue Bell toiled once more to reminisce. Another chilly night found her in the familiar chair concentrating with intensity. She kneaded her old brain with fingers of recollection trying to draw out the memories. Months passed slowly in those long hours of thought. Still, she found herself no closer to an answer. She questioned why it happened to her, but refused to indulge in self-pity or sympathy tonight.

Once again, she recalled the handyman at her home back in West Virginia tacking down that annoying piece of carpet and she always used the railing leading upstairs as an added precaution. The well-traveled steps creaked years with her footsteps and the routine wore a path in the old carpet. Sure, there were the few times she stumbled, she thought.  Old people did that, but she seemed to recollect a hand on her back, a sharp blow. Aged minds can play tricks. Still, with each night of thought, she felt she did not stumble or trip. Who would have done that to her, and more importantly...why would they? To make matters worse nobody around here seemed to listen to her.  She was alone in this god-forsaken place, forced by circumstance to call it home.

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