tablesaw | A beginning.

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writing

A beginning.

With no vehicles in sight in any direction, Maria waited patiently for the light to turn green. She dug into her purse to pull out a twenty-five-year-old photograph, once vivid, now sinking into sepia, pockmarked and torn. In it, a pretty woman sat on a yellow towel laid out on a beach, smiling at the photographer, ineffectively holding her auburn hair out of her face in the wind. Setting the picture aside, Maria readjusted the rear view mirror, just to be sure. And there it was, her face again. The light changed.

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