It was autumn, the winds still blew warm, moving the dust and rustling the leaves to create music every hour. The fall colours now merged with thatched roof houses and the wooden porch. The windows with white panels and delicate white lace curtains, tucked in the middle, to gather their flare and be restrained in their appearance.

She sat on the porch watching in nothingness, rocking on her dark heavy oak wood rocking chair drumming her frail white delicate fingers on the armrest. she could hear the jazz being played on the radio and could smell the pumpkin pie being baked in the neighbourhood.

she would sit on her porch every day for long hours. it was her favourite thing to do, and now when the time wasn’t a constraint in life, she had it all to her disposal. the world she existed in now was still young and alive with memories of the world she once lived in.

Back and forth in two worlds was her favourite game and he would accompany her enjoying every transit and making sure she felt alive in every moment.

Every morning she would finish eating her breakfast like an impatient child and wait fussing around the table for him to complete his. then they would together sit on the porch, he would read his newspaper while she with sit sipping her glass of lemonade.

Her light pastel colour dresses with delicate laces made her look beautiful. With seasons that had passed by the veins formed a web on her skin. the intricate patterns of green, blue and red spoke of stories untold.

she would sit on the porch with him seeing the busy road on a quiet afternoon. an occasional wave of the hand to the passer-by of past and a nod to the mailman who now was retired and gone was a pattern of life.

He played along, her every story, from planning and hosting parties and living Christmas celebrations with her countless times a year to changing the decor of the house to the changing seasons only she experienced.

With absolutely no return possibility he had embarked on a journey with her a long time ago. With years gone by she was still the same though he had grown old. He would often remind her, and she would accept it for that time and then again go back to her time and her fairy-tale.

He stood by her tall and strong, well bent a little with age, with his arm around her waist still holding her firm.

The autumns passed and so has the winter and many more seasons that followed. He still makes the breakfast and sits on the porch, takes her hand just like he did the first time they met when she walks into that lane. He stands tall and strong just like in the past … while she lives her silver dream in her glorious season of fall….