Wednesday, June 30, 2010

At This Moment . . .

At this moment, a dog is waiting, not so patiently, for her person.  She sits, stands, lays, paces in front of the window - never leaving her post.  Her person, a good person, has left her a fresh bowl of water, a full bowl of food, knowing that both will remain untouched during the dog's day-long vigil.

At this moment, a woman turns the key in the lock for the last time.  Her one small bag holds all she needs; she wants no memory of this place, these times, that man, the terror.  She's afraid - feels cowardly - yet knows she deserves a medal for bravery.  A smile sneaks around her face as she makes her way to the bus stop.

At this moment, the sun is rising somewhere, setting somewhere else.

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