Prompt: Write a story about a mother

Siera walked through the gallery, lingering in front of painting of a window. There was a hint of movement in the brushstrokes of the bird perched there, as if it had just alighted. Lavender grew in clusters under a tree. Dilapidated sunlight sprinkled across the lawn.

The painting reminded her of her mother.

Growing up, Siera recalled watching her mother as she sat in her chair by the windowsill, poised, quietly taking in the world outside. She had so wanted to emulate the kind of strength her mother had. She was at times stubborn, but approachable, with a gracious spirit.

She never appeared to be frightened of anything, while Siera, it seemed, was frightened by just about everything. She was plagued by night terrors as a child and slept with her mother and father far longer than her aunt deemed suitable.

“You know, Celeste, Siera really ought to have grown out of that phase by now,” she overheard her aunt scolding.

“Oh, she will. She’s quite independent, just needs a little extra support right now.”

Siera felt embarrassed by the judgement, but her mother caught her eye and gave her wink. They had a way of communicating without using words and she knew her mother wanted her to pay no head to Aunt Monica.

“For someone so interested in the business of others, she has a lot of her own business she should be attending to,” she recalled her mother saying after. Such a statement was about as transgressive as her mother ever was toward another.
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Siera felt as though she was never quite as strong as her mother had been. But as she reached down to stroke her daughter’s hair, she wondered if her daughter saw the same strength in her.