She was petite, always smiled at strangers, had a kind word for cranky kids in the bus, and a sweet understanding nod for tired mums.
Her gait never belied her age. She lived alone, happy in her space, pottering in her garden, visiting the town centre, taking gentle strolls in the park, waving at squealing toddlers rushing down the slide, patting run-away dogs.
What a difference it made to a lot of us, seeing her mere presence every day. Always dressed immaculate, a dash of coral lipstick on, a scarf in pastel shades around her neck, beige coat and small trim handbag held neatly. Quite a dame with none of that attitude.
One day, her gardener came, knocked on her door, didn't hear back then went away. Someone dialed a cellphone, it rang... A gentle breeze swept through the crack of her windows. Birds chirped, people walked by, children ran to school, busses paused and started again. Spring sunshine shone bright and sparkly. And Brenda was asleep in her bed, never to wake up again...
