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The rubber foot of her walking stick clicks rhythmically against the rocky pathway.
The world rushes by her with ignorant haste.
She walks on, taking care with each and every step.
Her age has become a challenge to her ambitious nature and the freedom of a long walk has diminished.
Though at a glance, you would see a happy elderly citizen, as her plump figure rocks with the instability of her stride.
She says, after the stroke, that her muscles had betrayed her, working for an external enemy.
When she summons the strength to tackle the outdoors, she puts on a sensible set of clothes, always with layers to add and remove.
She prepares for the worst.
It is hard for her to negotiate with her left side and she often wrestles with her defiant limbs to just make it to the next corner - the next corner.
Despite her age robbing her of most of her independence, she retains a small vestige, to appreciate each garden she passes, filling her empty days.
With a fumble for keys, she returns home to the promises of warmth that her diminutive flat tries to maintain.
Nursing aching joints, she feels weak again, tired and slowed like a battery run low.
With a frail click, she starts her stereo and smooth jazz tunes resonate throughout the room.
A knock at the door startles her and she begins the journey.
From leaning post to leaning post, she makes her way to meet the mystery visitors.
Like water to fire, her troubles are doused at the sight.
The biggest joy, her daughter and grandson standing right at her door.
Welcoming the offers of tea and biscuits, I think of just how hard life can be for my grandma.
With loving arms, I hug her tight.
• By Ethan Fisher, Year 12, Bayfield High School