I looked for inspiration, sought out a good writing prompt, listened to music and still nothing is waving at me screaming "write me, write about me." So here goes from somewhere inside me I have yet to discover.
"I wonder if you ever get tired" she said as she wiped the dust from the corner of the window sill.
Her crooked fingers wrapped around the cloth plunging deep into the pail of hot water. With each pass over the painted window frame she sang out a soft melody and scrubbed harder and harder over the thick stains.
"I know you're getting old, I see lines that weren't there before and the sagging in the middle is getting worse."
Moving from window to window, hunched as she carried the pail, Sophia brought each pane back to sparkling life. Looking through the glass she saw the young man in uniform pushing his sweetheart on the swing in the front yard. Smiling as the slightest touch of his hand brushed along side her dress, she extended her long legs towards the sky.
Into the next room Sophia gained momentum with blissful romance fresh on her mind. She emptied the bucket and refilled it with hot, soapy water. Dipping a mop this time, she danced across the floor with elegance and grace as if she had done it this way a million times before.
"Will you remember how I cared for you?" Sophia seemed to drift off in deep thought as she finished up the floor. " You hold all of my fondest memories."
Who is Sophia talking to? Her husband, her reflection in the windows, or is she talking to the house?
Is she the cleaning lady or the Lady of the house?
Is the couple outside only a memory to her or are they really there?
These are some of the questions I asked myself as I wrote. Honestly, the beauty is that there is no real answer. The story developed as I wrote each sentence. It intrigued me to think of all the possibilities.