Monday, May 31, 2010


Bennet Wimmer's scrutiny of the Tenderstitch Farm drew his gaze to the garden gate of the home where Grace lived. As he watched he saw movement there and he fished in his pocket for his Monocular. He liked to think that this single lens spyglass was something left over from playing Pirates as a child, but it came in handy. He trained the glass upon the form of Grace Tenderstitch and adjusted the Focus,  upon her face.
Here is what he saw. Grace stood in the garden in the late morning in her pajamas, Murray at her side. Depressed people have a sometimes difficult time getting going in the morning and this was true for Grace. She was at best disheveled. Her hair was mopped above her face and caught in an elastic, from which hanks of gray shot out like ropes that had unraveled. Her mouth drooped at the ends, Curled downward in an expression of dissatisfaction that lined its way over into pouches at her chin line. Her eyes were half mooned underneath with purple, and puffy. A cup of coffee rose to her mouth and she sipped, choked and sputtered. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and Bennet could see that she spoke, but could not hear her words.
Meanwhile above him the bird that he thought was a hawk, but was in truth an Osprey, called again and glided down the pasture to hitch itself up on the Gate post near to Grace. He watched as Grace seemed to speak with the bird, and turned to look up the pasture to where he stood spying on her with his Monocular. He had a full view of her face, now angry, in his glass before he hastily pocketed it in his trousers. Much to his dismay, Grace Tenderstitch started through the gate and took a northward path through the pasture, and toward him.

1 comment:

Debra said...

Beautiful writing, Baggatha. I love Grace....