Raking The Yard

He saw her in the window; the top half of her; washing dishes in the kitchen sink. That’s what it looked like she was doing. She was singing, or so it seemed. Maybe she was talking to herself. Having a conversation with the unseen; a ghost from the past. Some spirit that had come her way. Hard to tell.

Every morning he watched her. This husband. He’d be outside tending to spring clean-up and knew exactly what time she’d be in the window. Her pretty green eyes, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, it was the same woman he fell in love with all those years ago. Back when they were kids, high school sweethearts, parking under a June’s moon; were those days gone?

He hadn’t touched her in the longest time; really touch her. Deep down in her soul touch her. Sure, they’d make love, but, it wasn’t like it used to be. It was a performance; no connection.

And, he often dreamt of those days in the past when they did reach out for one another in the middle of the night. Was he falling out of love? Was she?

The husband of twenty years had grown a belly, lost some hair, and was beginning to hurt all over. And she was hurting too. Her soul was in pain. The kind of pain that makes you silently weep at night. Waiting to be touched. Deep inside.

So, he looked at her in the window as he raked up winter’s waste. She was the same he thought. The same. Why have I changed? why? ‘Cause life’s unfair, he mumbled. And went back to raking the yard.

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