[An older woman...]

 

An older woman, black shawl over one tired shoulder, came in from the street one day and seated herself by a window, troughing the spine of a book. Seeing her…love is a somnolent dance, I thought, beginning to whistle a slow waltz. I felt my friends rise and take me into closed position. Together, we swept the floor. Beyond the wall of their countingnence, my eyes were hers.