The Days of My Life Series

 She wore unhappy clothes and her hair hugged her face beneath a hood. Even the dog she walked seemed forlorn. I watched her through the front window of our breakfast nook, daily.

Frequently, she talked to a cell phone, with her head down. Occasionally I’d be outside, and wave or call Good Morning with little acknowledgement. It left me feeling sad and sorry for her. Was it cancer, the death of a loved one or a financial crisis?

I imagined her going home, unleashing the dog, and hanging the strap on a rack by the door. Then bending slowly to retrieve and refill the dog’s water bowl. The silence of her empty life was creeping into mine.

Then one day, the hood was off, and revealed a haircut, razor cut at the neck with the sides still long enough to hug her face. I imagined the dog smiled.

Perhaps she’d won the lottery, met someone, or been cured.

The cool overcast skies of winter drifted away and sun glare skewed my view.

 

. . . just saying

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