Sometimes when I walk, my step so heavy the ground sings hollow.
My foot falls firm and pleased.
My neighbor is both bent and frail. Two traits that have an odd companionship, a definite case of frenemy if ever there was one.
Her bones are no doubt hollow by now. Hallowed too. She makes me think of little birds, perhaps a wren.
So much so, I have days where all wish is to bring her juicy worms and sun soaked seeds. I’m fairly certain she wouldn’t understand, she might though. Maybe she’d wink at me in that playful Disney way.
Her shoulders are hunched and rounded out. I’ve a suspicion she keeps a set of wings tucked up in there. I like to think they’re red. A warm red, an autumn red; all full of change and calm.
I imagine there will come a day when she’ll get the call, “Miss M you’re on deck. Make ready for the next leg of the journey.” She’ll glide to the edge and tilt her head in a winsome fashion towards the young chap with the aviator glasses and clip board, “It’s been a rather long lay over, don’t you think?”
“Indeed it has m’am, indeed it has. Reports call for clear skies. God speed.” He’ll reply and offer her a smile.
Meanwhile, my shoulders straight and narrow, barely feel the weight of the day. And so, I plod along.
My step so heavy the ground sings hollow.