She stands at the sink, snapping peas. Through the window pane, a watery light drips on her brown hands. She glances down.
He’s coming. Up the road, pass the mailbox.
Her breath looses all cadence. She wipes her hands across her stomach.
An army of clouds march over the sky. The sun surrenders.
The knock on the door startles her, though she’s prepared.
The sweetness of change traces the outline of her body, electrifying her heavy limbs, and she moves to the door.