Books and Ducks

Books:

every morning I see her, or just about I believe, she’s an older woman and I would be hesitant to guess her exact age, but well past retirement it would seem. I see her while I’m out on my morning run or walk, down by the pond, and she almost always has a book in her hand, reading at bench, or carry it on her walk home. I always try and imagine what type of book it might be, loving the thought that it must be so engaging that she carries it with her wherever she goes, catching odd moments of reading time as she’s able. My own mother, long past the point where Alzheimer’s stole her reading mind, still carried a book from habit, as if her hands still knew the feel for books, remembering a lifelong love of reading and teaching and that the mere touch of a familiar book would help ease her fractured mind.

books have that certain magic.

we’ve never talked, the older woman and I, although I do sometimes offer her a smile which she sometimes shyly returns. It’s not that my running takes priority over friendliness and conversation, I often stop to talk to neighbors, a brief hello, or a moment to say hi and pet their dog. My priorities always include a friendly dog. But it’s different with this woman, there’s a bridge of conversation that won’t be crossed and I have gently tried on some occasions. She’s never been mean, no real rebuff, just remote and uninterested in…