Hall Street

By Danielle Mitchell
Spring 2020

As I walk down my driveway, I see her sitting and soaking in the sun. Relaxed. Although there is pollen in the air, she seems perfectly comfortable as if there were some protective shield around her. The tall trees provide shade so that the sun is not overbearing, but more like a caress of the skin. Although I have not learned her name, I have missed her. When winter came, she went inside, leaving her usual post on the porch. Now that spring has returned, she has returned to her yellow and faded white striped lawn chair. She is wearing a white t-shirt that seems too big on purpose. The kind of too big you wear around the house, but it does not get in the way when you are washing dishes. She wears capris and sandals. Her hair is braided in two pigtails that, by the look of them, had been in for a day or two. Her appearance brings me joy because it just feels right. Coming out of the house and surrounded by green, to the sight of her sitting comfortably, was like attending an event on Groundhog Day. When I saw her, I knew that new beginnings were coming.