I’ve lost count of how many years I’ve sat in this nook, looking from the window down onto the world below. The movements of the people that come and go are the same, day after day, year after year, just different faces.
There was a little girl, though, with caramel coloured curls. Every day she wore the same red coat, and a matching ribbon in her hair. She would skip along beside her mother on her way to school, down there, along the pavement past the café on the corner, past the bakery, the butcher’s shop and then across the street into the plaza on the other side.
Do you remember? We watched her together and wondered what she would do, and who she would be when she was grown. If she would still sing as she skipped along that same path, not a care in the world.
And she does. She does still skip along the pavement, past the same store fronts, most of which haven’t changed after all of these years. The ribbon in her hair is gone and the hand that she holds is no longer her mother’s, but that belonging to a lover, a friend. The movements are the same, day after day, just different faces.
It’s just me up here now and I have often wondered if you still care about such things. If you’ve ever thought of that girl and who she has become now that she is grown.
I see another little girl now. She skips along the pavement past the café on the corner, the bakery, the butcher’s shop and then across the street into the plaza on the other side. And look at her! She wears a little red coat with a matching ribbon in her hair. The hand that reaches to her to hurry her along as she skips and sings, it’s yours …
And I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass as I watch you both come and go. The movements are the same, both down there and up here in my window. Just different faces.