As the day ebbed away, I would see her hobble down the gravel path to the water’s edge. She’d wait there a moment or two before wading into the water. I knew her story, her husband many years before had drowned on the lake one night during a fierce storm.
She awaited his return thinking if she stood there he’d know she was waiting.
It made her feel she wasn’t giving up, some nights she’d sing, others she stood in silence. When the light finally faded to darkness, she’d wade out and head off up the track to her home.