Turning the corner in the gathering darkness, I find her standing silently in the shadows, hugging herself, thin arms wrapped tightly around her body. Straining to make out her image, I am captured by her eyes, red and swollen and filled with sorrow, as the tears spill down her cheeks.
She looks so old, so alone, so sad. I want to reach out and hold her close. I want to comfort her, but the words just aren’t there. We stand, a few feet apart, staring at each other, unmoving, surrounded by shadowed silence.
Finally I hold out my hand to her. She holds out hers. Our fingers touch, our images are blurred by tears.
And in that moment I understand. My only witness is a dark mirror in a dark house.