she sits
in her grandmothers chair
head in hand
staring placidly out the window
frost is starting to form at the outer edges
and she feels the chill creeping through the glass
so she tightens the afghan, another of her grandmothers
hand me downs, around her
and starts to gently rock back and forth
  staring
into the dreary winter vastness
letting her mind wonder
to simpler times
carefree, uninhibited, happy
   young
no, she thinks, this is not what i had planned
when did it slip from me
when did my dreams dissipate
how can i have let them go so easily
   unknowingly
with a sigh she knows she must accept
her fate
because somehow,
somewhere
she became lost
and she gave up on her dreams
so now, aging,
feeling a slight comfort
being amongst her grandmothers things
she sits
   unsettled
but accepting
accepting the hand she has dealt herself
so many years ago.