On the outside looking in.
Leaning on the chair for support, she looked back at her shelter, or was it a prison. The sun warmed her back, easing the ache deep in her bones. How many more winters did she have in her battered body? How many times would she draw the shutters closed against the chill wind? The birds in the trees managed more industry than she could imagine. At least the windows were clean. She spoke a silent thank you to those responsible. A tiny voice broke her reverie.
“ Granny, more juice”
The reason to go on contained in that small voice.