Golden locks in white clouds

She stood there in front of the mirror looking at herself switching her head slowly from side to side, as she calmly checked out her looks..She pulled up a brush and gently and slowly began to stroke her hair which resembled a white cloud with a slight exception of the few golden locks which refuse to bend to the will of time.. The wrinkles on her face always reminded her of a thousand and one stories.. That’s how she viewed her life..An adventure.. A story..She finished brushing her hair with her hand which was a bit shaky..

It was a cold December breeze.. She was wearing a royal blue robe embroidered with intertwining gold and silver lines..She walked out of her bathroom leaning on her cane and passed through her corridor where she stood and took a look at some photos she took with her very first camera back in the 1940s, there they were hanging on her wall from over more than fifty years.. “A very different world” she whispered as she watched her photos in their frames on the wall.. The black and white shades of the photos of Alexandria and Cairo in different areas were only another reason why her grand children occasionally turned her house into a museum and invited their friends proudly to have a peak at her photos.. She could see the astonishment and surprise on their face.. She couldn’t blame them..She still stands there to watch them every morning.. “We do not grow old by age..We grow old by life!” she muttered silently..

A tear almost gathered in her eyes as she shifted her sight between the different photos..She shook her head silently as she leaned on her cane once more and continued her path through her corridor until she reached her balcony..

The fresh air blew her hair backwards for the first few seconds..She always regarded it It as her morning welcome..Something she always waited for.. And she placed her cane aside and took a seat on her nearby chair a skillfully made fer forge chair with comfortable cushions..

A cup of tea laid on the table right in front of her.. She looked slowly at the sea before her..She never was able to leave Alexandria despite the fact that half of her family went back to Greece in the early 1950s and the rest travelled to different places of the world across different periods of time.. She never felt anywhere else was home but here.. By the Stanley bridge, by the sea..

She still remembers the Royal ceremonies.. Princes and Princess from all over the world gathered and came to these shores just to enjoy the lovely beaches and warm summer sun rays..

Even when the monarchy was overthrown and presidents took place.. No one could yet resist the charm of this city and it’s beaches..

Also despite the new wave of north coast comfortable resorts all across the north coast and different other locations in Egypt… And despite that she enjoys more now a calmer place.. But she is still flattered as to how many people come to this charming city..And how many come and just sit by the shores and talk to the waves..

She looks silently as gentle smile draws on her lips and she leans forward picking up slowly her cup of tea which was made of porcelain..A carefully crafted piece of art..Everything to her was history..And history was her adventure.. And her story..

She looked at the clouds and can hear her sons and daughters back in the days when they were children.. And she saw them transform into her grand children and then the children of her grand children..

She takes a sip then places the cup down where it belonged on it’s saucer.. Everyone would come to her to hear the stories of time…Stories of love, despair, anger, rebellion, escapes and escapades and many, many more..

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the soft air breeze as it blew through her hair.. And simply let herself go.. She was ninety five.. She knew.. It was time for her to go..And so she silently went on that morning.. On another journey..In another world..

One thought

  1. Tarek, wanned to write a generic criticism on that piece of urs as a critic, but found my self
    on a trance yearning to end up on the same balcony; over looking the beach in Alexandria, my mug of Nescafe is still hot, starting another journey, to another World;
    but hope not to wait another fifty yrs:( it would be cold and empty more than it is now.

    Ur short story looks more like a short Documentary movie. I enjoyed not only reading
    but reliving ur protagonist’s very special moments, cuz am an Alexandrian to my deepest marrow!

    U skillfully took us to a unique and a remarkable Point of Illumination:)
    Well done:)

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