There’s sun-streak on red bricks near the front door and bay picture
window. A wrought-iron chair doesn’t dance or curtsy to the wrought-iron
table. Glasses are set on the concrete porch. They once held wine.
A paperback is open to page one hundred and seventy-eight.
The heroine is still a virgin. The neighbour’s dog barks as he accelerates
towards the pale orange ball. Ants have constructed ant hills between
stepping-stones. A yellow-jacket explores the side yard. This is Tuesday.
Yesterday was Monday. The lawn was mowed on Saturday. It will need
to be watered on Thursday. The house is too close to the airport
landing path. The wine bottle is in the kitchen. You’re wearing a light
white top. March is uncomfortable. The weather forecasts waffle
between blinding snow and pouring rain.