Fragrance

I saw her by the kitchen window, hands engaged in fixing dinner, a whistle from her lips embroidering the night air. Breaking into song, her face a portrait of beauty and grace. Hands in soapsuds now, cleaning dishes then wiping them dry with the care she would exercise as if she were dabbing away a child's tears. Pots and pans now scrubbed to mirror cleanliness she placed them lovingly back on their shelves, flicks off the switch, plunging the room into darkness, the music receding as she moved from the kitchen into the living room, gradually disappearing until it was if she had never been there. Only her fragrance remained.