She walked to the door and turned the knob.

(One of our members’ 5 minute writing items.)

She walked to the door and turned the knob. The crystal knob was cloudy, like her eyes; her joints knotty with age, skin thin and marked with sunspots from years on the golf course, on the beach. She used to spend her days playing bridge, while she listened to Reds games on the transistor radio at the same time. She retired and lived on a golf course now, where she had gotten two holes-in-one in her dozen years there. Hers was a life lived full, four children, all grown and moved away, now it was just her and her little gray dog. They were both aging, clouds in their eyes. She opened the door and called out, “Daisy?” But Daisy didn’t stir. The cataracts made it hard to see, but she knew where Daisy’s bed was, in the corner next to the fireplace that never got lit due to warm Florida winters. She moved slowly over to the dog’s bed and called again. “For Pete’s sake, Daisy, quit playing games, let’s go out.” She bent down and poked her, but her body was cold, the life gone; the wisp of last breath taking the soul with it up into some warm heaven.