Mary OConnor

The Bandana

The Bandana It was a cold Sunday afternoon as she sat at the table staring out into what felt like an abyss. The big oak table was heavy underneath her forearms as she pondered. She took in the strong smell of stain and poly, finding some brief joy in the fact that she had recently brought the old table back to life. This year required she keep her hands busy as much as possible. Since last March it had been too quiet and too loud all at the same time.