The bed creaked. The old grandmother turned, “Are you warm enough Nadia?”
“Shhh..yes, Babuska” the soft answer floated by. Nadia’s feet swung over the edge and into the chill.

An egg crackled in the chipped pan. The old woman snored. Nadia finished her breakfast. Shrugging on her coat, she slipped out the door and into the gray, the place where no one knew her name and no one cared.

Gray does not keep time. It does not remind you of yesterday nor push you toward tomorrow. Sidestepping the spit and puddle and dog crap and each thought wondered dangerously close to what if and hope and color.

Hope moves fast and the young may catch it but the old are left behind.

Nadia returned in darkness with fresh blisters, two eggs and a piece of cheese. The old grandmother stirred, “Did you get bread?”
“Not today, Babuska. Here, eat some cheese.”
The grandmother nibbled as another blanket was placed around her shoulders. “It is so gray.”
“Yes, Babuska” came the soothing reply.

Soon the snores returned. Nadia scrubbed her face and tucked her feet into the bed carefully not to chill her grandmother. Succumbing to the cold thoughtlessness once more, she gave up her tomorrows.

love.