I remember the sun, shortening in the sky, every new day. I watched the sky be painted with a series of blues, sprinkled with white.  I watched from my window. She was an old, stained glass window, with an image of a dragonfly inprinted within the consciousness of the antique. I had been around this window for a while, because that’s where my mom had lay. In the hospital bed, right next to it. I had watched the seasons change, slowly. 

Starting with spring, when new buds had emerged from the frozen ground. With spring brought hope, her cancer had finally started to fade into nothing. Then the bloom of summer, with intense heat, but beautiful color. She was blossoming, she seemed happy. Her cancer seemed to have disceased with the last snow of winter, and melted into a nourshing river.

Then fall came. The crisp autumn leaves, falling, one at a time. They were orange and some red, with a beautiful tone, yet this image in my mind; destroyed by the cancerous mildew overtaking the vessels. My hope plummeted, like the leaves. Her hair had fallen from her head, one strand at a time. Her light, her smile, getting shortened one day at a time. I watched the outside world from my window, too afraid to leave her side– yet too heartbroken to take my eyes off the flourishing people just beyond my windowsill. Winter had dawned on the horizion. The frigid cold, the darkness swarmed over her like a disease. Taking her from me, like the flower petals wilted, and blew away from their stem. The snow froze her. It froze her last smile in my memory. So until spring comes again, I’ll stay here. Staring out this old window, watching the snowflakes fall. A frozen drop of water: a delicate crystal formed by the pressure of the frigid air, landed on my old stained glass window, and melted away. The cold liquid fell down the glass, as tears flooded my reason.