It was my time.

It was her time, she thought, unbothered, a bright star sparked in the night sky. The valley of violet crystals was there in her eyes with a green pie smile. She sat on a chair imagining things, she said, “save me from you”. Blue is not that far from green and to be not seen is not that easy nowadays. An age where everyone is visible, even a recluse is online.

There was a time when bookshelves gathered dust; mail order catalogues looked forward to, her next purchase will be the book on Hockney. But all gone now, given away, to fill some others table or book stand, pages turned perhaps once in a while.

For everything has four dimensions, length, width, breadth and duration. Some things last longer than others, that tree in passing seems serene enough, still, at peace, inactive, but I’m guessing it’s seen so much including Cromwell's men with barrels of gunpowder and courting couples kissing. In its bark carved their names with the usual misspelling. Another mark made reads – it was my time.