Posts Tagged ‘olive press’

Guardian Angel

Posted: April 27, 2019 in What Pegman Saw
Tags: , ,

The first time Tadita caught my eye, she was strolling barefoot across the cobblestones on her way to the olive press, long auburn hair swinging in time with each step. Oh, how her hips swayed, jaunty and proud. Her eyes, the color of a blue jay’s wing, dared me to speak or stay quiet, I don’t think she cared.

Twenty years later I spied Tadita again, still barefoot, still slim. Was it possible her eyes were even bluer, her hair the same length and color? So many years had passed, the olive press was crumbling, as was I but not my Tadita.

And the last time? Tadita sat at the edge of my bed, eyes filled with kindness and love. She hadn’t aged a day, while I lay broken and dying. I swear, just as I let age finally take me, delicate blue wings sprouted from Tadita’s back.