Privacy Interrupted

Recently, as I was watching the cats play in the trees outside my kitchen window, I caught a movement on a neighbor’s balcony out of the corner of my eye. I had never noticed anyone on that balcony before. An elderly woman in a long printed skirt, nondescript sweater and dark headscarf sat down on a chair. She had the deep-set, darkly rimmed eyes and etched wrinkles of a dried apple doll. Although I felt guilty for watching her, I couldn’t help myself. She leaned her head forward and covered her face with weather worn, swollen hands. She sighed. She looked up then down, then covered her eyes in a gesture that could have been despair. She sighed again. After five minutes, she stood and slowly entered the apartment.

I wondered what her story is, with whom she lives, whether she suffers or is in good health. I thought about the stories she could tell and hoped that someone takes the time to listen to them.