Reflections, by Jane Tulloch

From a place on the wall I’ve been gazed into by so many people over the years. I’ve seen harried housemaids in the early days, uniformed laddies giving their mothers a last kiss, a grieving mother swathed in black, a mysterious lipsticked lady. So many fleeting faces, each a moment in history, my history. I’m still on the wall. I see the young faces as they anxiously search the charity shop looking for a bargain. They all look past me. I’m invisible to them as I as watch from my place on the wall reflecting life as I always did.