The summer breeze rattled the old farmhouse door as Edith sat frozen in place at the foot of the stairs.

She had sat here many times as a child waiting for her mother to be ready to leave for school or to go shopping or to church.

Now she sat with moist eyes thinking about how she would never wait for her mother again.

Even though it hadn’t been a shock, infact quite the opposite, she could still feel her heart whirring with the feeling of sudden overpowering emptiness. This house, which had been a hive of nurses, family and sympathetic visitors for the last few months would now sit empty. There was no market for such a property if she could even bring herself to sell it. Everything here was dead now in some respects.

Leaning onto one arm, Edith slowly peeled herself from the bottom step and stood shakily. She took a deep breath and pulled open the front door. Bathed in the low orange, but yet still intensely warm sunlight of the evening sky, she made her way across the drive. Kicking off her shoes, she entered the wildflower field.

With her face tilted upwards and her eyes closed as if breathing in the final life of the day’s sun, she traced her hands along the tops of each flower making her way deeper into the field. The soil contrasted cool to the warm sun on her face.

She yearned to feel alive. To feel connected. She needed it. She was like a helium baloon that had been detached and she could feel herself ascending. She needed an anchor. This field with the flowers her mother had loved for they were wild and free just like her.

This place was her anchor.