Her generation

She would be ninety today. My grandmother, the mother of my father.

The cat is green. The granddaughter is the first child far and wide. Photo: BM

The man next to her – her husband and my grandfather – died today too, on her birthday, which is why after that she never celebrated it. She celebrated daily though, life, love, little things, tender mercies. This one is for her generation. It will never return, yet it will never grow old either.

And this is me channelling her with the view of her bridge over the Drava river in Maribor from her window.

Cin cin, baca Zana!

Photo: MM

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