Dust

Her hair was tied back in two little ponytails that started just behind her ears. Thick red ribbons held them in place. The sun kissed her cheeks, giving them a rosy glow. Mostly, I noticed her eyes. White and shiny. Filled with the joy of an innocent life. A smile to match. Emily was my sweet little girl, just four years old.


I saw her twirling in her fire engine red dress. It flew through the air like Little Red Riding Hood's famous cape when she skipped through the woods. Her white socks reached up as if they were going to grab the flowing hem of the dress and remind it that it should be gently brushing her knees. All the while, her black Mary Janes clicked on the sidewalk. 

That was last week. This morning she wore an identical red dress. The hem of her dress rested lightly on top of her knees. Her socks stroked the hem, happy to have contact.  Her Mary Janes were silent. I reached down and stroked her hair which had been pulled back into two ponytails and tied with a new red ribbon. A brush had painted her cheeks pink, but there was no glow. Her eyes were closed. At first glance she looked to be asleep. But I knew better.

Rob placed a kind hand on my shoulder. "Are you ready Isabelle?"

After nodding yes, he walked me to my seat and then took the one next to me. We held hands.

"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." Pastor Rob began.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***