What Now?

This Friday afternoon was different. Oh, the billy goat grazed on the tall grass in the field behind the house and watched over his harem with his customary masculine indifference. The lambs frolicked as usual, while their moms grazed nearby. And the knee-high grass danced to the rhythm of the rippling breeze, as did the emerging leaves of the oaks and maples.

But on this Friday afternoon a chorus of birds—wrens, blue jays, robins and cardinals—serenaded me in four-part harmony. No bombastic commands filled with unreasonable expectations scared them away. On this Friday afternoon, I wouldn't feel pain as his knuckles left their mark on my face for wasting time looking at the field through the window. On this Friday afternoon, there would be no police at the door responding to a neighbor's complaint about the noise.

No, this Friday afternoon was different; because for the first time in eighteen years, I was alone—and lost.

Return to My Stories.

Contact me regarding this story.