She felt lackluster. Lonely. One of those lousy days. When she’d finished her coffee and couldn’t get up from the table.
When she’d rather sit there staring unblinking out the window as if spying a rare bird. Even just that occasional woodpecker, the spry little flicker that landed on the deck railing, as if lost. When he should be going about his daily business of pecking his way up the side of the house.
She wasn’t spying any rare bird – there was no movement out the window. Not even a breeze to rattle the stiff grey winter trees. And she should be going about her own daily business. Cleaning up her kids’ half eaten breakfast plates.
Maybe she was just like that occasional lost flicker – caught unawares, in a familiar place that suddenly felt too familiar. She was mired in a moment as if time actually could stand still.
It couldn’t. She forced herself up from the table.
And just missed a brilliant yellow oriole flit through the grey trees.