The Widow in the Window

To her neighbours, she is a familiar sight: the woman on the window sill.

Of course, only a fine day will make her appear there; dressed according to temperature, she will sit on her window sill for hours on end, sometimes reading, sometimes with her eyes closed and her face turned up to catch some of the precious few sunrays a typical mid-European summer has to offer.

She is rarely seen without a book, a glass of water and her mobile phone nearby.

Every now and then, she will open her eyes, put her glasses back on, and glance around the gardens and the road she can see from her vantage point, usually when some sound has caught her attention.

Sometimes the big doves forget that she is there and fly past very close on their way to the big old tree in the next garden where they like to sit and talk, so close in fact that she thinks she can feel the flapping of their wings.

A big fat bumblebee is paying a visit and the woman politely moves to make room, whereas a wasp can induce her to jump down back into the room when it does not quickly continue its quest for food or a nesting place elsewhere.

On the road nearby, cyclists are shouting to each other, unsure of which turn to take. Someone is walking past pushing a pram and talking to the little one in it. The elderly lady from upstairs is weeding her vegetable patch in the garden below the window, and calls out to the woman up there, for fear she could fall asleep and end up breaking her neck on the small patio.

The woman does not sleep, though. She is listening to the world around her, while her mind is either busy with some mental image or the brewing process of ideas in full swing. And sometimes, she enjoys just thinking of... nothing, letting her mind drift where it takes her.

Which could be practically anywhere.