She was different today, though.
Perhaps exhausted.
Taking deep breaths.

Nevertheless, she continued.

She gave me a kind wave when I eventually crossed over to inquire if she needed assistance.

“I’m fine,” she said.
“I’m just giving the Mitchell boy something hot.” He has spent the last three nights at home by himself because his mother is ill.

She repositioned the towel-wrapped bag and continued to move.

“I understand what it’s like,” she said quietly.
“To feel lost.”

I saw the taped-up letter on top of the container at that point.
She wrote clearly but shakily.

Additionally, the front just has two words:

“You are important.”

She allowed me to walk with her this time when I volunteered to do so again.

She stopped every few feet to catch her breath, not because she was weak.
As if she