Confessions of a Kashmirican

Happy New Year everyone! 😄 Sorry if the post title scared you, by the way. 😅 I was just outside earlier walking my dog, and usually during such walks I would start thinking about random stuff. Today - because of how gentle the winter weather outside felt - I had a poetic short story in my head about an old woman talking to Death as if It were an old friend, while It just keeps looking at her in silence. This is pretty much how the story goes: One fine spring day, an old woman is lying alone in bed. She knows she’s about to die, so she waits calmly. Soon, Death arrives, knocking at her window. She sits up and opens the latch between the old window panes, letting the breeze open them. But the figure remains floating outside, without a word. So, the old woman shrugs and starts talking. “My, you’re a strange one! You knock yet refuse to enter, I wonder why. Is it not my time yet?” Death remains silent, not speaking a word, but appears to look curiously at the woman. “Well then