Stepping into my older sister’s back yard, I was intrigued by a very old metal dresser standing under a huge oak tree.  Now not everyone has a dresser as a yard ornament, but then again, my sisters and I are all a bit unique. . .

As I stood in front of the lovely old mirror that hung over the dresser, it struck me that in times past women of centuries before me had looked into this mirror on many occasions. I immediately imagined a young woman in a long creamy white wedding dress with a lovely old fashioned veil. For a brief moment it seemed she was looking back at me from the other side of the faded old glass.

Standing, looking a little longer, it seemed the scene changed abruptly, the young woman was a bit older and in her arms was an infant. It too was dressed in white. I could not tell if it was an image of its christening service, or if perhaps they had prepared it for a funeral. The child was very still, lying in its mother’s arms, eyes closed as if asleep.

Far back in the shadowy images of the mirror, there was a young man, standing tall and serious in his uniform. It was perhaps from an age almost forgotten now, even as far back as the War between the States. Whenever it might have been, and whoever he may once have been, the look on his face as he yearned for the two in the forefront will forever be stamped in my mind. It was clear that his was a love that went beyond the day to day, it was a giving of lifeblood if need be.

Leaning inward, looking intently into the depths of the mirror, beyond the reflections of leaves, and clouds, I suddenly saw a very old woman, much older than I. She looked pensive, not really sad, just thoughtful and alone. She was very thin and held in her hand a wispy bit of white lace and netting. Of a sudden, I realized she was the bride from many years before, holding the remnants of her wedding veil.

Now some of you may think I am a bit fanciful, or that I don’t live in the world of reality, and yet I assure you that I quite well do. It’s just that I know in my heart that there are other times that have gone on before which do not want to be forgotten. And so, as I look into an old wavy mirror, I am often drawn in to the memories it might hold.

If you should ever be in the neighborhood where my sister lives, I would encourage you to stop by and look deep into the old mirror in her back yard. You might just be surprised at what you see lurking there, what memory might reach out and grab you, urging you to never forget.

And so, as I reflect on the lovely fall afternoon of raking leaves, and carrying tree limbs, and glancing into her wonderful old mirror from time to time, I wonder if one day someone will look into an old mirror such as that and perhaps remember me.