This old woman walked through the delicate road slow, not surely. Her back was slightly bent. The lines were full of her face, representing her wisdom and experience. Her eyes argon like the deepest of ocean, and have a lot of stories to tell.
She pauperismed close to tomato and potato from own farm. She never did this before because it was laborers business. Jack, her husband,passed away last month.
The farm was not so far from her house, but she button up felt tired and had to suss out for a rest. She had come here many times because of its greenness big tree and bines around it, blue flowing river, and clever small bridge. But at this day, she suddenly found close every abbreviateg had changed. The big tree was losing its energy. The stock was dry. Almost all thumb had g unrivalled. The bines was still round the tree, but lost its color. Under the tree, she recalled a lot of ducks often played in the river. She off-key her ear arduously, wanting to search something. But just one thin duck stood at the border of the river, peering at the clear river. Its plumage was unpolished and a little out of order. The both sides of the small road, flower was sporadic, not blooming. Before, jack must send her one small flower every time.
She moved very slowly along the road, wearing the oppression and the depression.
She missed Jack, and recalled the past riant life. At the end of the road, the old cattle of neighbor were on the job(p) in the field, very hard. The sweat was shining in the sun. She turned the head at right, finding everything changed back. The old duck was still catching fish in the river. The old tree and the wizen bines still armed together. Sun was moving to the west, but the motion picture of sunset was still beautiful. She smiled, and came back her room slowly, but surely.
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