My mother never feared getting older. She used to say that wrinkles and furrows were trenches in the battle for dignity.
She would ask: ‘Can you read my smile? It tells of adventure, its lines a map guiding you to the truth of who we are. They are my beauty.'
Her lips read like a musical score; her eyes, deep fantasy. The arch of her eyebrow told a tale of mystery; the sheen of her hair was pure poetry.
Even Death fell enamoured of her; stole her away; but my mother left her face in my mirror, as her legacy.
Author bio: Elizabeth Spring is an English teacher, photographer, traveller. She writes mostly fantasy fiction and poetry. Lately, she has found delight in writing very short stories and micro fiction on twitter: @ESWarriorPoet.
Legacy is part of 101 Fiction issue 22.