Memories so tenuous, that she wondered if she had ever really felt them or if it had been a dream.Her husband had tried to be her lover, but it seemed...the more he pushed for her response the more conscious she was of the deadness inside her. If she allowed herself to look inward, she could almost see the dried husk of something, a decaying, shriveled, mummified remnant of the woman she once was. She had learned not to be introspective; the horror was too much to bear.She hated this part of. A fortyish, square boned, matron with blond hair that long ago lost the battle from going gray stepped in front of me from the inside. Time and the sun had been hard on her; this was someone who lived their whole life in the fields of her flock. She looked at me long and hard before she stepped back.With a look of distaste, she invited me in.The floor was soft loam, the good stuff that my mom would have paid a fortune to use in her flowerbeds. There were ivy and various plants growing along up. More

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