Every evening, after dinner, Siobhan took a turn.
When she first began the practice, to aid digestion, her husband blanched, pointing out the dangers of the dark. But Siobhan was undeterred.
The streets were hers as much as anyone else’s – though she conceded the need for a hardwood walking cane which, for laughs, she complemented with a beret.
Whatever the weather, she walked the neighbourhood and made the unfamiliar familiar; tiny fairy villages in tree knots, entire streets she’d forever driven past but never down, other walkers like herself.
Her good mood on returning improved even further if the dishes had been done.
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