"Trouble."
Isis.
This woman...is...my mother.
Memories spiralled up into her brain like gun powder out of a Flintlock Pistol.
They say that if a bad memory is like a bird, it is okay to know it is sitting on a branch nearby. It is okay to notice it fly and sing. Yet move in calmness with eyes only for the nature around you, with skin that feels the wind and eyes that open for the light. When your mind naturally moves back into the present, into the moment that is the gift of life, the bird will be gone.
In those nostalgic sepia memories, all she saw was bad memories, and words from her varsity lecturer and her beloved grandmother.
