Movement Observation

There are many places to go and observe the world. This writing style has encouraged me to form small descriptive paragraphs in my head as I watch and interpret the community around me. This Monday morning, almost afternoon, an average sized woman of about 50 years of age sits slumped at the counter. Her shoulders are rolled in, and her hair lies brushed and falling to her bosom. Some ends of the golden lifeless stringy strands are still damp from her morning shower. Some sections wave around her oval makeup less face. Her eyes are focused on the screen of her PC as her hand scrolls and clicks without urgency.

The wedding ring on her left hand catches the rays of light shining through the large three pane window. The panes are dirty and need cleaning, but the sun is not intimidated by the dust and smudge. The woman rests her chin onto her knuckles. Interrupted by the beeping of the oven, she scoots her chair back as it scraps the tile. Standing and dragging her pink slippers to the oven, she prepares her hands with mits. Her feet shuffle one after the other.

The breakfast quiche fills the room with its scent, but she leaves it in to cook longer. Bending and hunching to check it, she returns to a standing posture steadily. With leisure, she returns to her chair and forms a similar position as before. A pair of colorful reading glasses are propped on her head, holding the sides of her hair back from her tired eyes. Her nose is round and smooth. It is nicely centered in the middle of her face. She is an attractive woman, and her clothes depict many patterns that catch the eye. The dark blue of her blouse brings out the blue in her eyes. Her pants nicely complement the tone of her shirt.

Outside the dusty window, a couple passes. The man has large strides and the woman shambles to keep the pace. His beard is thick and brown, a similar color to her hair. They are scampering quickly down the sidewalk and can only be seen through the three-pane window for a short time. The grays of their clothing reflect the bright morning sun shining on their backs from the east.

The oven sounds again, announcing the quiche. Repeating her same escape from the kitchen stool, she glides the chair back. This time, the woman is propelled to the oven, more swiftly than before. Her steps are quick, but her slippers still drag. With a breath of disappointment, she stabs at the buttons once more. Adding more time and returning another time to her kitchen throne.

This time she slumps and collapses over the counter. Her shoulder blades protruding from her back. Sunken into her work, she reaches up and drags her reading glasses down to her vision, leaning closer to the bright white screen. Her reflection stares back at her, through the fingerprints and illumination.

Returning a third time to the quiche, awaiting her approval, she swipes a fork from the countertop on the way. With this metal tool, she agitates the quiche's center. Stirring and poking at it to encourage its cooking. In her last preparations she gently, and unhurried, makes her way to a new counter space to finish another task of cutting then tenderly buttering the bread.

A jogger trots by, her sweatshirt glistens as her movements alternate in body halves. Her pony tail bounces trailing behind her. Working in unison her shoulders sway in opposite directions and her time seen passing the window is even shorter than the couple who preceded her. In a glimpse, she has traveled beyond the view of the lucarne.

The brown-haired couple returning from whence they came, are now promenading with coffee in hand. You can see their breath through the smiles they wear. Casually they stroll by, they have lost the hurried pace of earlier. The man’s free hand is swinging vigorously but he does not acknowledge this. His limb is dangling loosely. The woman is listening with intent and interest to the one-sided conversation.

Two girls enter the pane from the other direction. The dog walking them is large and white. Pausing at the brick pillar near the end of the driveway he sniffs. The blonde girl, taller than the other, tugs at his leash and the hound is interrupted and then pulled from his procedure.

For a third time, the same couple makes their way past the window. They must have circled the block. Deep in conversation the woman gestures with her free hand energetically. She is passionate about this story and laughs with the man their heads falling back and then returning upright.

Such is life observed both inside and outside the window pane.