The Widow & The Window

On the outskirts of town lived a widow succumbed to grief, who emerged from her cottage only to water her azaleas.

Every afternoon as she sat by the window, a young boy walked his dog through the meadow by her cottage. She looked upon the boy with curiosity, for every day he wore a small smile on his face, as though he shared a secret that no one else knew. This curiosity soon turned bitter, for it had been some time since the widow had been content with anything.

On a day when rain fell from the sky above, the widow stood on her porch, emptying a basin of rain water that had leaked through the thatched roof. The boy ran past barefoot through the mud, his hound barking at his heels. Stopping outside the white picket fence bordering her garden, the boy looked up at her.

"G'afternoon ma'am." He greeted, eyes bright. The widow did not return this greeting.

"Boy, why do you smile?" She asked curtly.

The boy's eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Why, it's raining ma'am."

"Yes, I do see that. Do you think me an imbecile?"

"No ma'am, I only meant—"

"A young boy like yourself should have more sense than to go galavanting in the rain," She went on, gesturing to his apparel. The boy glanced down at his shirt, which clung to his skinny frame, heavy with water. "Why, dressed like that you will catch pneumonia for sure." Tossing the contents of the basin over the railing, she headed back inside. "Utter nonsense."

As she turned to close the door, she saw the boy's face turned towards the sky, the rain running in streams down his face.

Blustery days followed, bending trees and whistling through the long grass. The widow seldom left her cottage, for she saw no purpose and refused to be carried off in the wind. The boy however did not see the wild winds as a valid reason for confining himself inside. He ran through the meadow with his eyes closed, arms spread behind him. A holler drove the widow to stand up from her seat and step out onto the porch.

"Boy!" She called over the wind. "Why do you yell so?"

The boy's eyes opened and saw her standing a few feet away, a hand gripping the railing for support.

He closed his eyes again and replied, "I am flying, soaring high above the world below"

"What nonsense, children can't fly. Now, get down from that rock before you hurt yourself."

The boy leaped, his shirt billowing behind him as he tumbled to the ground.

The seasons changed. The nights grew longer and colder, and the widow's azaleas wilted and died. What was left of her garden was frozen and bare, soon to be covered by a blanket of snow.

The widow kept the fire burning as well as she could, with what wood she had, keeping visits to town as minimal as possible. The boy didn't see the snow as an obstacle, his tongue darting out to catch the snowflakes as they fell. His dog trotted unwillingly at his side, up to it's muzzle in snow.

She was gathering firewood by the side of her house, brushing the freshly fallen powder from her small pile. The young boy approached her, kicking up the snow. She turned to face him. The boy was cloaked in a jacket that was two sizes too big for him, the sleeves falling past his fingers. His nose was red and runny and yet he grinned ear to ear as he picked up a piece of firewood and ran up her front steps, laying it just outside her door.

"What are you smiling for boy." She said, brushing by him.

"Its snowing ma'am."

"Well you won't be smiling when you and your mutt catch a cold." She carried the firewood inside and closed the door against the cold. "Go home boy."

Time passed still and gradually the snow melted, the green beneath demanding to be seen. And one day, the sun showed itself.

The widow was sitting on her porch when the boy ran by. The sunlight lit his copper hair aflame as he chased after his dog into the meadow. He was smiling.

"Look ma'am! Not a cloud in the sky."

In the days that passed, She nursed her garden back to its former glory, and the young boy soon went from an annoyance to a welcome companion. And for once the widow didn't resent him, because for once, she wasn't alone. But as time went on, his visits became less and less frequent.

Then the boy stopped showing at all.

She didn't think anything of it at first but then days turned into months, which turned into years. The widow grew miserable. She isolated herself from the townsfolk and in return they kept their distance.

As the widow crossed through the market square, children retreated to their parent's side. Whispers followed her. She kept her head down. Clouds stretched over the grey sky, and it began to rain. Slow at first, then a steady patter. For the first time in months the widow cast her gaze upwards. Then something caught her eye.

A small tent in the corner of the market square. A coppery head that looked all too familiar standing behind the table. She walked forward. He was shifting coins in one hand, the other arm supporting a small bundle as he counted his earnings. The baby stirred and the young man bounced her gently, a tired sigh escaping his lips.

A small smile stretched across the widow's face.

The young man glanced up at the widow for a split second, acknowledging her presence. He raised the back of his hand to brush his stubbled chin. His eyes were guarded, weary.

"G'afternoon ma'am, is there anything I can help you with?"

"I do hope so."

He straightened, adjusting his daughter on his shoulder and held the widow's stare. Then, shaking his head in mild confusion he asked,

"Ma'am, why do you smile?"

"Because it's raining."