Raconteur

by Stephanie

As the old woman sat speaking her stories into the recorder, her fingers worked tufts of pink fluff off the red blanket on which she sat.  The story swelling with emotion, she raised her arm for effect and the tufts fell from her fingers.  They floated down around her, some landing on her yellow dress, and were left to lie where they fell.  Her legs, outstretched in front of her, crossed and uncrossed themselves rhythmically as she spoke, and every so often she would punctuate her story by patting the knee of her grown daughter who was seated next to her.

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