He went out the front, turned the corner past the garage and climbed up the slight hill until he reached the bench. A quick dust-off to the planks as he thought, sometimes it’s good just to sit down.
A light snow had fallen the night before, gathering in the furrows left behind in the fall from his last run around the lawn with the mower, curving near the empty flower bed and straightening out again moving down the slope. As if he were looking down on some vast cityscape from a far away vantage point. A dry leaf scuttled across the ground at his feet, breaking the silence and his illusion. Funny the things you notice with a little time on your hands.
Both parents dead, three divorces, grown kids scattered and busy, and his two sisters had come in over the weekend to keep him company. One working on a divorce of her own, the other’s family would be driving down later that day. And so here they were, at it again, inside the house. Rearranging his furniture. He couldn’t say why, but this was the second time now and the sense of some kind of ritual in the making had finally driven him outdoors, something close yet unknowable was going on in there but you can overthink things so he considered forthcoming bruises and stubbed toes instead.
He looked down again upon his cityscape and conjured up its inhabitants, all happy and warm and home for the holidays.