Sense of uncertainty chases around my shoulders. Scottish woman walks away, spine stiff, head high. Or else I rattle on about nothing and don’t worry So often anymore I’m prone to sharpness and a quick Way back to the heather.” I close the car door. Merriment and English good sense that battle each other. With my English ancestors, so I’m blessed with a good dose of Highland
I’m not from Scotland, but some distant relatives were. She removes her hand from the top of the door. Her flyaway hair is sandy, and her sad eyes show more burnished gold than green. I’m so homesickįor the heather.” She’s medium height, medium weight-medium all the way around. Getting into your car and wondered if you are from Scotland.
I hop into my reliable Subaru.Ĭareworn woman stands there like a waif. Like most Pisces, I’m proud, a bit vain, and I avoidĬoloring it but fight other signs of aging with a diet pill once in a while and I’m still light on my feet even though my hair has turned soft white. I shuffle a little smart-step, unable to hide my joy. I alsoĭon’t like the dark face of the phone in the bright sunlight. Searching for whatever drops to the bottom. Without looking back, I waggle my right handĪbove my shoulder and push open the door. Sedgewick,” the coffee gal calls after me. Notices the newspaper tucked under my left arm. I slide from the stool and head for the door, hoping no one Life at age seventy-two isĪbout to change. Instead, I jig my fists below the table in a silent yes, yes, yes. In a bistro needs to witness a lady past her prime make a fool of herself. Springs within me, but I control the urge. The date in the corner reads July 7, only four days ago. Right here in the real estate section ofĪnswer. To make sure, I draw the newspaper almost
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