She had searched high and low for it. The family heirloom. A simple gold anklet with a tiny bell on the end, which made little tinkles as she walked. Today, she sat in her garden reading a novel, swinging herself on the old white swing. It was a cool, pretty Spring day and the scent of the flowers filled the air, and her head, with wild imaginings and white dreams. Something was missing though as she swung her legs in rhythm with the swinging movements. No tinkle. No little ring. She gasped and realized that her anklet wasn’t on her right ankle. Her old faithful.
She had turned her house upside down, her bedroom was in a mess. She had scoured the garden with a magnifying glass, and then, a torchlight as it began to grew dark. The anklet was missing, she realized in dismay.
And when it hit her, the tears came, fast and furiously, as she remembered the gentle smile on her grandmother’s face as she affixed the heirloom on her beloved grand-daughter’s ankle.