Copyright 2010 Brenda McCreight
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There are those among us who find a place in time and claim it as their own. They live in sweet oblivion to the passing of years, and only the stare of strangers gives them the occasional pause to wonder if something is amiss. Willow Martin, stuck firmly in the 1970’s, was one such person.
Willow’s once copper colored hair had long since turned grey, yet she refused to admit to the changes in her body anymore than she conceded to the changing of the times. She still wore her hair long and flowing, with shiny little plastic beads braided into the thinning strands. Anyone watching Willow as she sat in her house, hard at work on her newest piece of stained glass, would immediately notice the veined hands and the wrinkles around the eyes that presented so harsh a contrast to the fresh faced young hippie she had been when she first came to the mountain, almost forty years ago.