Tennis balls scrape against pavement as Ann slides her walker down the sidewalk, rounding the corner to meet the waggling rump of Macy, the neighbor’s retriever. They were both blonde once, hair thick, curly. They’d run, one cross-country, the other after a Frisbee. They’d had babies. Ann only had two to Macy’s impressive nine.
These events didn’t line up across Ann’s eighty-seven years and Macy’s fourteen. But their golden years, which are really more gray, line up so each day they pass one another on their morning walks and admire what they once were and the handful of days before them.
Lovely!
Very moving really like this.
Such a nice, thoughtful piece! Very enjoyable!
The tennis balls at the base of the walker was a particularly inspired touch.
Well done. Honest optimism about fate.