Fresh Slate

The barely beige carpet gently tickled her outstretched legs. She leaned back on her arms, making way for her ever-growing belly. Her curly, dark brown hair flowed onto her creamy shoulders.  Her deep emerald-green eyes scan the aged walls for any imperfections. This once over flowing home office, is empty. It somehow felt so much larger now. These once stark white walls were now outlined with shades of grey from the pictures that once hung.

Comfort washed over Anna as she admired the newly empty room. She wore the expectant woman’s glow like a badge of honor. Her lacy cotton white tunic wrinkled with the slow touch of her delicate hand as it crossed over her belly, as if to share the moment with her unborn child. After all, this work was all for him. Her slightly rubied lips allow an ever-so slight smile to rest on her face. She is amazed by her life and how far she has come.

The small smile gives way to tears that crawl down her flawless ivory skin. She remembers back to those seemingly black nights that plagued her as she mourned for her loving husband. Those were days Anna thought might last forever. Just like everything in life, those shadows moved on to make way for the bright auburn glows of the sunrise. When day broke, she allowed herself to move on and she wrapped herself in the arms of love once again. The damp, dark days of winter always give way to the awakening of spring.

She reaches for the light pink cloth nestled in the mountain of paint supplies centered in the large room. She pulls her feet into her and sits up straight. Anna could think of no better gift for her unborn son than to cover the walls that surround him as he dreams with his mother’s pure love.

Anna pushes her narrow feet into the plush carpet to stand. She grabs the muted yellow can of paint and pours it into the thin, white roller tray. Her fuscia colored nails stand out against the pale smokey blue paint in the tray as she places the salmon colored nappy roller into the paint.

As she turns toward the now two toned wall, the feeling of deep joy washes over her from her  loose, almost-black curls down to her swollen, fuscia covered toes. The fresh coat of paint instantly washes away those aged greying walls to reveal a fresh slate.

Author: Sara

My name is Sara and I am a woman with a history and a future. I am a mother of 5 and a Counselor. Being a teen mother and a widow in my mid-twenties has given me plenty of storms to weather. Writing has always been my solace, it's also a passion and a talent. Through my writing I hope to help others weather their storms and create my own path to my dreams.

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