Every morning, she prepares the coffee, places two cups on the tray and brings it out to the balcony. Afterwards, she gets dressed with one of her vintage beautiful dresses, shiny heals and leather bag  and heads  towards the markets with a lovely smile on her face as she says to every person she sees “My son is coming home today”. She strolls around the shops as if she is searching for something specific until she reaches a closed shop.  She stares with disappointment turn around and walks back home.

On her way back, she ran into her friend who asked “What’s wrong?”  She looked at her with sadness featuring her old face “buttons! I need buttons for the sweater I knit for my son; I can’t give it to him without buttons”. She said that leaving her friend behind and marched ahead talking to herself, cursing that she’s late because her husband is waiting for her and counting the foods she needs to prepare before the biggest arrival.

At home you can see her through the windows, moving around the kitchen, with her dog sleeping on the rug, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, preparing the dining table, placing the fancy tableware for the special occasion, when everything is set, she changes for a better dress, sprays perfume, stares at herself in the mirror as she can sense the excitement in her eyes.  She sits on the top of the table waiting, the sun disappears, she could hear noises of her neighbors getting back from work, night falls, it is all silent and she is still waiting, in the dark alone with her shadow and her dog; her only friend.

Poor old widow has never lost hope, her husband died of misery and she still gets up every morning, heads to the mall that she thinks is the same old bazaar, searches for places that no longer exist and for people whom left long ago. She waits for her son to return from a war that no longer occurs…

Her daily feasts end up feeding hungry families as everyday she gets up, she hopes and she waits …