The Rocker

     The rocker slowly creaked back and forth.  What a comforting sound.  It was a sound she had heard many times through her childhood.  Time and again, she and her siblings would race to see who would get to the chair first.  Often, they would end up lying on the porch, laughing because they had all tried to pile into the rocker at the same time.  Now she sat there, with no competition, reliving the times when they, as a family, would gather together and tell stories and drink lemonade.  Those days were gone.  Yet, the rocker still remained with memories wrapped up in its worn wood. 

    Slowly she got to her feet, brushing off her brown skirt, more from habit than from need.  As she walked across the porch, a tear slipped down her cheek.  Whether it was a tear of sadness or of joy, she could not tell.  They were gone, but she would soon join them.  Her worn body would not be able to carry her for very much longer.  She reached out with a shaky hand for the doorknob and twisted it, entering the house.  Silence reigned on the porch, then a gentle wind reached out and the rocker started creaking once again.