Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree

Seagulls swept low over an ebbing tide of a silvery estuary, sparkling brightly as the morning sun rose higher, spreading its rays across glistening water and rolling hills. Squawking aimlessly amongst themselves, the gulls gathered on a shallow sandbank halfway across the estuary towards sweeping fields, trees and a single farmhouse opposite. 
     A tall ageing gentleman walked along a leaf-strewn path close to the water's edge, which circled a large park, where from time to time a few people exercised on various pieces of outdoor gym equipment, installed by the Cornish Council. A foursome of ladies played tennis not far away on the other side of the park, while a middle aged man with a pleasing smile possessing a sanguine disposition, served mugs of hot coffee, cakes, sandwiches and occasionally iced buns nearby in a small purpose-built café. His trade was reasonably brisk while the weather held fair, but now autumn was setting in, mainly locals visited the small café keeping his business afloat. It overlooked the tennis courts with a few tables and chairs spread out under a large ash tree, its leaves a deep golden colour, moistened by overnight dew.
     George usually walked at a moderate pace, hands plunged into trouser pockets, as he circled the park twice each morning. His head tended to hang down as if deep in thought and he never really smiled at anyone as they passed him by. In fact he barely uttered a 'good morning' as the other dog walkers, joggers and strollers did. He kept his head lowered, seemingly content with his own company. A small dog followed faithfully in his footsteps, never on a lead, but never straying from the path either. She was a small black and white spaniel with floppy ears and a pretty, well-shaped head. Her gait was even as her short legs moved to keep up with her owner. She possessed an inquisitive expression and hoped many a time to stop and investigate her surroundings, but it wasn't to be. Her loyalty to her owner was such that she was content enough to follow him around the tree lined path, occasionally stopping by a tree trunk to sniff before catching him up. Most days it was the same, weather permitting and George didn't bother too much to turn and see if his dog was following, but rather strolled on relentlessly, plodding one foot in front of the other.
     The ageing man was pleasantly dressed in what looked like comfortable sports clothes, as he usually paused to exercise on the gym equipment. He only managed about fifty slow strokes on the rower, then paused catching his breath before moving to the cross trainer. There he appeared to contemplate for a while longer, before continuing his walk around the park after a brief rest on a park bench. His dog sat attentively watching George, ears pricked and head cocked to one side.
     The exercise equipment beside the wide estuary was overlooked on the other side by rolling countryside and clumps of trees. Most days George indulged his thoughts while absorbed in the scenery, steadily, diligently moving the rowing bars back and forth when the weather wasn't inclement. He gazed nonchalantly out across the ebbing or flowing tide upon the hills and gentle valleys, green after constant autumn rain, A small herd of cows grazed in the faintest of morning mist. He squinted briefly to observe them, a brief smile on his weathered face. He'd been a well-to-do-farmer in his earlier life, until that too was abandoned for one reason or another.

Rob and Sarah sometimes walked through the park or around it at certain times of the year, when they weren't travelling abroad with Sarah's work schedules. Rob lived in Cornwall permanently, content with his retired lifestyle and when time permitted, walked alone on the cliff tops in winter overlooking Perranporth beach. He and Sarah strolled hand in hand taking in their environment. She was several years younger than Rob and not yet retired. They'd shared an ongoing relationship for years but never bothered to marry. Rob breathed in the cool morning air, before informing Sarah that the Canada geese would soon be visiting  again on their way south for the winter. 'It was a sight to behold', he told her with enthusiasm, 'although a noisy but fascinating event if you happen to be here at the right time.' She'd never seen such a migration as this and being interested in bird life and photography, hoped she could catch a glimpse of them one day soon. Sarah was forced to live in London for now but hoped one day to move to Cornwall.
     They passed George on the path coming towards them one morning, as a grey autumn mist hovered across the water of an incoming tide, slowly descending on the rolling hills opposite barely visible.  Seagulls wheeled above, their cries intermittent as they swept low across the water of the estuary. A herd of cows had been turned out and grazed slowly traversing a hill, ghostlike in autumn mist. The sun peered  briefly through higher wispy clouds to glisten on the water's surface, turning it a shimmering silver again.
     Rob took a deep breath and looked across at Sarah. 'You know, that man never speaks or says good morning as all the other people do. I wonder why.'
     Sarah thought for a moment before answering. 'I wonder too,' she replied, eyeing the silvery water, bringing her camera up to her eye capturing the moment. 'There must be a reason,' she sighed. ' People have all sorts of problems to deal with, good reasons and private too for not wanting to talk.'
       Sarah, like Rob was fit and active, of medium height, very attractive and with an inquisitive nature with pretty grey-streaked shoulder length hair. Although she lived a long way from Rob, only visiting several times a year, she enjoyed a change of air and scenery, where the hills appeared to sing with autumn song here in Cornwall and mists rolled in like creeping ghost from the sea beyond, herons dived to a well tuned theme, and shadows danced across distant hilltops. Clouds scudded briefly before banking into darkening skies as large tree boughs bent low towards the water. The October sun barely warmed upturned faces in the park, as gulls glided, swooped again and again to the sound of silent fish swimming. Sarah loved the park and countryside surrounding it, close to where Rob lived. She absorbed all its beauty and being near the seaside, enjoyed the best of both worlds marveling at its beauty. Autumn was her favourite season and already the trees were changing colour. Leaves fluttered down littering pathways and pavements in towns and villages. There was a small lake on the edge of the park, where she often paused, watching ducks and swans glide effortlessly upon a leafy surface, hoping she'd catch them in full flight with her camera.
     'Well I don't know,' replied Rob with a shrug. 'He's never spoken a word to me, only nodded if I caught his glance.'
     Sarah reasoned for a moment. 'Maybe he is unhappy about something,' she suggested thoughtfully. 'Or there may have been a death in his family. You never know. That sort of thing would certainly make anyone feel mournful or quiet, don't you think?'
     Rob kept walking at his usual pace, as Sarah bustled to keep up with him. 'I suppose so,' he muttered.
     'I wonder if it was possible to encourage him a little as he appeared to her sensitive about certain things. After all, he does have a very nice face and perhaps wouldn't mind if I smiled at him. Surely that wouldn't do any harm. If he doesn't want to be bothered, so be it,' she shrugged. She glanced quickly over at Rob who appeared to be considering her idea. He hardly paused, striding on towards the gym equipment, where he liked to exert himself several days a week. He wasn't young anymore, being retired now for the past year and feeling the need to keep as fit as possible with his advancing years.
     'Do you really think so?' he replied, sitting down and taking up the bars of the rowing machine. 'As I've said, he's never bothered to utter a word to me when you haven't been around. Why would he want to now?'
     Sarah smiled to herself, enjoying the challenge. 'I can only try,' she said, with a feeling of determination.
     'Try if you will, but I very much doubt it's worth the effort.' Rob rowed a little faster, slowly increasing the pace to a steady rhythm, as blackbirds whistled in ivy covered bushes nearby, their sound almost harsh upon the morning air.


Not far away grew a large chestnut tree, already beginning to shed several nuts, scattering them onto the pathway. A few young children were walking with their mothers scurrying to collect them in tiny hands, laughing as they tossed them into the air before catching them again.
     As autumn progressed, many leaves had already changed into a deep gold and orange colour. They shimmered in weak sunlight filtering through overhanging branches of a row of mature trees along a pathway, beside where small boats bobbed on a high tide, some strewn across the lake's surface opposite. Swans dipped their heads diligently into the depths looking for food, the surface rippling with their effort.
     Several days later, as the early morning quietly mellowed across the estuary, cows still grazing along its banks, George sat quietly on a seat below spreading branches of a large chestnut tree. Alone with his thoughts, he contemplated a first circuit of the park while the sun glinted through the magnificent colourful branches above. His dog lay at his feet, one eye always on her owner. George usually began his walk here, while his dog shuffled a little closer to his outstretched long legs. He muttered something to her, before they began strolling along the path towards the exercise equipment, passing the tennis courts on their way. He'd named the dog Lucy, in honour of his wife, who died tragically in a car accident a few months ago. He felt an empty loneliness after her death that gripped his whole being, seemingly inescapable. 

Perched on a park bench overlooking the estuary and the exercise equipment, Sarah shifted upon the seat, noticing George approaching some distance away. She walked over to the cross trainer, having never been on it before, watching Rob nearby, as he completed his rowing efforts.
     As she stood on the footprints of the cross trainer, feeling a little apprehensive, she remarked. 'Oh!' she laughed. ' I'm going backwards I think,' then laughed again at herself.
     At that moment, George was passing and turned his head briefly. 'You'll soon get used to it,' he said with no particular expression.
     Sarah was astonished that he'd spoken to her and not knowing what to answer, quickly replied, 'Oh do you really think so?' and smiled at him.
     'Yes!' he said walking on, his dog following closely on his heels.
     She soon got the hang of it, her legs moving up and down which seemed to her a rather jerky motion, not at all smooth as she expected.
     'I'm not so sure,' she laughed, half to herself.
     Soon Rob stood in front of her, arms folded with a strange look on his face, his mouth twisting.
     'Was I imagining it, or did old George actually speak to you?'
     She slowed her rhythm, coming to a halt. 'He did indeed,' she replied with a brief nod and smile.  'And how nice he seems too!'
     'How nice!' retorted Rob, sounding almost jealous.
     That didn't deter Sarah in the slightest. 'Yes nice,' she repeated. 'And it appears he's not a great deal older than you,' she grinned smugly
     He ignored her last comment with its innuendo. 'Perhaps it's that lovely smile of yours,' grimaced Rob. 'You can't help but have old George speak to you if you smile sweetly at him,' he admitted. 'And how do you know he's nice?' frowned Rob.
     She sat down on the bench, gazing out to sea. Seagulls were constantly soaring and circling, their raucous cries sounding like petty squabbling over food or territory.
     Sarah thought for a moment before answering. 'He has a very pleasant face and I just knew he'd say something sooner or later. It's a matter of circumstances, you see.' She smiled inwardly, feeling she'd really accomplished something and it pleased her.
     Rob relented to her natural charm, sitting beside her, grasping her hand in his. 'I'm glad he spoke to you though. Perhaps you've broken the ice after all this time.'
     'I still think he's shielding something. He appears to be guarding his feelings somehow.' She pulled her hand away from his while thinking. 'I'd really like to know, but of course it's none of my business is it?' Sarah looked down at her hands, then at Rob again. 'Come on,' she said, getting up from the seat. 'Let's walk some more. I need the exercise.' 
     She often thought it was far easier to engage in pleasant conversation by asking someone about themselves than talking about oneself. One day it may be possible to engage this strange and mystifying gentleman in brief conversation. She certainly hoped so, as it'd be a challenge she'd relish. 
     They did another circuit of the park, Sarah pausing to watch two people playing tennis, while Rob strode on as he often did. 
     'Oh I wish I could still play,' she said half under her breath, knowing her injured shoulder was no longer up to it. This always left a deep sadness inside her when she thought about it.
     'Do you?' came a quiet voice behind her.
     Sarah turned suddenly to find George standing not far behind her.
     'Yes... yes I do...' she replied hesitantly, feeling a lump rising in her chest. 'But can no longer I'm afraid, due to an injury.'
     She quickly turned the conversation around, realizing no one would be interested in hearing her woes, least of all a stranger. 'Do you play at all?' she enquired of him.
     'I used to play often with my wife, but have had a bout of cancer and alas, have lost a lot of my strength.' He looked down at his shoes, a regretful look on his face. 'It takes a while to get it back you see.'
     'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.' Sarah didn't wish to pry, but instantly felt sorry for George. Neither she nor Rob really knew the man's proper name, but always called him George and it stuck.
     'Are you better now?' she asked, wondering if she dare inquire further.
     'Yes I think so. On the mend at last, but the worst part is losing condition and not being able to play sport. That I find, very tedious. It's the hardest thing to accept. Not so much the illness.' He spoke with a soft, almost Yorkshire accent Sarah found intriguing. 
     She watched the tennis players for a moment longer. 'I think I would too, but I understand perfectly. We tend to take our health for granted until something goes wrong.'
     He glanced over at her again, his expression one of sadness. He didn't say anything for what seemed like several minutes. Sarah shifted from one leg to another, unable to continue the conversation and feeling a little awkward.
     'Think I'd better go now,' she smiled.
     George nodded briefly and strode off in the opposite direction, while she pondered more on what he'd said.

A few days later, Rob and Sarah were discussing politics as they walked briskly along the same path surrounding the park, kicking leaves occasionally as they went. Another mist had rolled in from the sea, chilling the air around them. Sarah donned a large spotted scarf, knotting it firmly around her neck. George was already on the rowing equipment ahead of them, steadily drawing the bars back and forth.
      As they approached, she paused and looked over at him, his back turned to them, gazing out over the estuary as he rowed. Soon he slowed to a halt, sitting motionless for a time. Rob was already engaged in a piece of equipment that went from side to side, intent on achieving his usual two hundred counts each side. Sarah decided to sit on the bench and wait her turn.
     Soon George rose and noticed her sitting there and nodded briefly. 
     'A lovely morning isn't it?' she uttered, not knowing what else to say, wondering if he wanted to talk. He always looked a quiet man to her, not at all the chatty sort. His deep grey eyes were taking in her features before they once again gazed out over the water, watching a heron dive for fresh fish.
     He turned back as Rob joined her.
     'I only do about fifty strokes,' he replied, then glanced over to where Rob had been exercising.
     'Oh! Rowing you mean? Hmm... she thought. Perhaps it's because he's had cancer. She gave a little nod and smiled. 'It takes a while to get back into the swing of things,' she suggested. 
     'Do you come here most days?' asked Rob, intervening. Although he'd noticed old George  somewhere along the path many times in the past, but hadn't taken much notice. George paused before answering, taking a deep, slow breath. 'Yes, I try to do two circuits,' he answered in a forthright manner surprising them both, before becoming rather breathless.  
     How strange Sarah thought to herself, before more conversation was forthcoming from George. He was becoming quite chatty by now.
     'My wife died several months ago,' he sniffed, 'and she loved this equipment. We played a lot of tennis together you see, just over there.' He motioned with his head across the park. 'It was a shock when it happened and I've felt lost ever since,' he mused, his head lowered, eyes downcast.
      Lucy gazed up at him whimpering, as if she understood what he was feeling, not taking her eyes off George for a moment, her tail slowly moving from side to side. She'd quickly become a constant companion for him, after his wife's death, but could never take the place of his true soul mate.
     'Oh dear, I'm sorry!' Sarah was beside herself, feeling immediate compassion for George. 'It must have been a very difficult time for you  and being ill as well.' Rob agreed with her sentiments nodding briefly.
     'It has been, I'm afraid. I'm not good on my own. Some men cope well, but I feel very much alone now. I miss my wife. We were the best of friends and shared many interests.'
     His dog sat upright at his feet, a mournful expression on her  face. George bent down and gave her ears a gentle rub. He loved animals and had enjoyed running a large profitable farm in the past.
     'She was abandoned you know.' He was still looking down at Lucy. 'I found her wandering the street late at night where I live and after making several enquiries, we formed a new partnership.' 
     George straightened his back slowly. 'She seems very loyal and won't let me out of her sight for long. I like her around me and have become quite used to her. She's good company too. I don't have any immediate family, so it's just her and me in a large house, I'm afraid.' 
     The little dog gave a bark of approval, which made Sarah smile. 'What a lovely little dog you have,' she said, bending down to fondle Lucy's ears. 'I'm glad she is company for you, and hope your health continues to improve. '
     She turned to Rob. 'I think we must go now, as you have an appointment soon,' she reminded him quietly.
     'Oh! I almost forgot. Perhaps we'll see you again soon.' He motioned to George with an expression of hope, beginning to like the old boy.
     'Perhaps you will,' came a distant reply.
     Sarah took Rob's hand and as they headed in the opposite direction to where the car was parked, turned and waved to George.
    
Several weeks later after an early shop, they walked in the same park, around its circumference towards the estuary. Although the wind was a lot colder, sun bristled through the spreading branches of the chestnut tree. Many more leaves had fluttered to the ground, littering it with colours of brown, red and gold. Amongst the fallen leaves were more of its nuts, scattered far and wide by children and people walking amongst them. The bench under the tree somehow looked empty and forlorn as they strolled past. Leaves had piled up becoming damp from recent rain.
     After their brisk walk, they paused for a mug of hot coffee at the café overlooking the tennis courts. Only one other person was there reading the paper as they ordered. They sat down, zipping up the front of their coats and rubbing hands together to warm them.
     The café owner leant over the counter as he was making their coffee and announced in a quiet voice. 'You know that man who always did two circuits of the park with his little dog? The one who always sat contemplating under the chestnut tree? I often saw him there first thing.' He motioned briefly with his head towards the huge tree nearby, its autumnal branches spread wide.
     'I wonder if that's old George?' suggested Sarah looking at Rob, eyebrows raised. She looked up at Danny, the café owner. 'You mean the one with the black and white spaniel? He was tall and... well pleasant looking, sort of quiet and introvert.'
     Danny nodded. 'Yes, that's the one. His name was George I think.'
     'Well I never!' remarked Sarah. She turned back to Danny, who was putting the finishing touches to two steaming mugs of coffee. 'We always called him that, never knowing it was his real name. What were you going to say about him? Do you know him well?'
     Rob walked over to collect the coffee. He looked up at Danny whose expression had changed, becoming much more serious. 'In fact not that long ago we got chatting with him and found he'd had cancer, poor man. He was always very quiet with just me around, until Sarah showed up. I think he liked her. It was she who got him talking a bit.' He took a sip of the steaming hot coffee and sighed.
     Danny folded his arms and rested them on the counter. 'I didn't know him much at all, only that he sat there often as if contemplating on that bench over there before walking around the park several times.' He motioned with his head to the lonely looking bench not far away. 'Almost two weeks ago now, I looked up to see only the little dog sitting under it, as if pining. I went over, but he just whimpered and wouldn't move at all. Turns out his owner had just died I'm sorry to say. Heart attack you know. I found out via a neighbour who knew him and has a coffee here from time to time. The dog's name is Lucy. 'In fact... '
     'Oh I am so sorry to hear that,' said Sarah, feeling suddenly very  sad. 'We were just getting to know him. Such a nice man and the little dog was so sweet. Maybe she'll have to go to a ho...'
     Danny interrupted at that moment. 'As a matter of fact I have her right here. No one else seemed to want her.'
     He bent down behind the counter and gathering up the little dog, handed her over to Sarah who  immediately responded with delight. She had a kind and caring heart and always loved dogs.
     'She's all yours!' said Danny, depositing the dog into Sarah's arms. 'There's no way I can look after her with my lifestyle the way it is.'
     At first Sarah was bewildered and didn't know what to do or say. 'I... I really don't think I can...'
     'Of course you can,' Rob interjected, smiling at her and giving Lucy a gentle pat. 'She'll love you - and your house is large enough for two. You even have a garden for her.
     Sarah laughed. 'It isn't at all, but if you think...'
     'I most certainly do,' agreed Rob again, before she had any other thoughts on the matter. 'And when you come to visit, we can walk her here, then she'll feel at home - at least for a time.'
     Sarah laughed again. 'For a time? Well I like that! Why for a time?' she enquired of Rob, but he ignored the question as she cuddled Lucy in her arms and smiled at her. 'What do you think little one, eh?'
     The small dog appeared to welcome the idea and gave a short bark, wagging her tail at the same time, squirming in Sarah's arms, settling down comfortably.
     'You see? She is in total agreement. It's all arranged then,' Rob announced, before Sarah had anything more to say, nodding his head and grinning at his own indulgence. He thought she would be a perfect choice to look after Lucy from now on.
     Danny too felt thankful the little dog would be well looked after, but Sarah was still feeling the loss of George and would really miss him. There was a certain charm about the tall, quiet gentleman.
     'I'll miss her owner though,' Rob added, looking at Lucy, then at Sarah. She nodded briefly in agreement as Lucy settled comfortably in Sarah's arms.
     Danny stood up. 'Good! That's settled then. How about sticky buns all round?'
     Sarah was still feeling apprehensive while holding the little dog, who had happily gone to sleep in her arms. It was going to be another chapter in their lives, one she thought she'd be happy to embrace.
     Rob leant over to her. 'Don't worry my dear. I'm sure all will be well,' he said reassuringly.
     'Perhaps it will,' she answered, still thinking of old George as they sipped their coffee.
     The seat under the spreading chestnut tree was empty but for many more fallen damp leaves. It looked barren and somewhat abandoned now winter wasn't far away. A cold north wind suddenly blew in across the estuary...
    
    
    
    
    


    
    

An Impromptu Visit to the Dentist!

It's not always straight forward when you help replace a large and lengthy timber dividing fence between your neighbour and yourself. Apart from the aches and pains occurred in the evening after hours of back-breaking work, the loss of half a tooth can result in another trip to the dentist.
     It could be considered fortunate that after an immediate phone call, a prompt appointment was hereby made.  By something feeling as if it was stuck amidst some bottom teeth, the tongue not only loosened the offending object, but so too half a bottom tooth, much to my annoyance and inconvenience. It was definitely not the right moment for this to happen.
     While continuing with the fence that day, the broken piece of tooth was placed carefully onto the floor inside the back sliding door of my kitchen for safe-keeping - just in case the dentist needed to refer to it. But alas, before it could be wrapped and taken for his perusal, it was vacuumed up in a frenzy of floor cleaning.
     After the first section of fencing was completed, a hasty trip to the dentist was executed. Feeling a bit guilty and not at all helpful, I explained about the broken half of tooth going AWOL before it could be scrutinized, but then rejoiced in the fact he happily waved that aside, as if to no avail with the problem at hand. What to do about the severe loss of tooth and the gaping cavity it left, looking a bit like 'the black hole of Calcutta', as we once referred to such things. 
     The young and very efficient Asian dentist looked into my mouth with a deep scowl to his forehead. 'Hmm...' he mumbled. He repeated the same troubling expletive as he shifted into several different positions to make quite sure of himself before delivering an earth shattering, or should I say bank-balance-depleting suggestion and to some  extent something resembling a perfect reason for an acute heart attack! 
     'Hmm... well... I think...'
     Did I want to hear what was coming? I think not, but listen I did, my hands clenched tightly together. I held my nerve for what was to be forthcoming.
     All I could do was hope and pray it wasn't going to cost an arm and a leg. He worked upwards to that, beginning with some sort of suggestion of a filling, then anchoring a post and a crown to follow. That alone would be A$1600 and here's me thinking $800 would be rather a lot to fork out. The idea of a filling began manifesting itself more and more in my brain. Even if it was possible to anchor a post...it would be expensive. Next he uttered the suggestion of an implant, not holding back for a moment of the cost it would incur.  I went a little strange at that moment, my legs turning to jelly at what was to come, and moaned while my mouth was still wide open. Perhaps he got the message. I knew full well implants don't come cheap, even if you  do have private medical and dental insurance. There are always out-of-pocket expenses to consider that could be perfectly within my budget. But an implant? He had no hesitation in informing me that one such item would be A$5000, and that's not for a mouthful of beautiful gleaming teeth, but a measly bottom side tooth. Did he realize I could buy a very expensive camera for that? Or even a decent lens or two, for my existing one. I could even enjoy a fancy cruise to the Caribbean , if I was that way inclined.
     After I recovered from the shock, I asked the young dentist if he could merely fill the offending tooth. 'I'll try', he answered, looking slightly hopeful. My heartbeats thus returned to some form of normality, hands relaxing slightly after being clenched throughout the 'preliminary' consultation.
     Putting my smile, for what that was worth, entirely in his hands, I gripped my hands together again, as he began the rebuilding, and in a clench that would have put a world prize fighter to shame.
     He set about administering many different substances, with a variety of sharp-looking instruments, with a lively conversation carried out above me, between his young female assistant and himself. My eyes dashed from one to the other, in the hope they hadn't become completely engrossed in last night's supper with friends at a well known restaurant.  How they could concentrate on such a flourishing rebuilding of a tooth, being a delicate operation and chatting about everything from last night's outing to the price of wine, while constantly passing different instruments to and fro, was beyond me. 
     'No, not that one,' he said patiently to his assistant at one stage. 'Cure!' 
     This was a pencil type thing that is placed against the filling with an ultraviolet light, then bleeps when the next bit of filling has hardened in a matter of seconds, or so it appeared. This was repeated several times.
     In the meantime, I noticed a large flat screen television set high and to one side of the room. The equipment was nothing like it used to be. My mind instantly went back to the days living in England. Visiting the dentist thirty years ago, in a lovely coastal village-type town in Dorset, things were very different. The building for one thing, was an old frontal type semi-detached house on the main street, leading down to the sea not far away. The rooms were on the first floor and large, with high fancy ceilings. There were always pleasant things to gaze at while your mouth was wide open, cotton wool pads stuck deeply into a cheek or two, definitely no television, but rather interesting enlarged photos of yachts racing, mounted on the walls. It was easy to invite a one-sided conversation. This particular dentist was keen on his sailing, even inviting me to crew for him at one time. Alas, I was always too busy in those days, which I now regret. Nothing would have been more exhilarating than being out on Lyme Bay, the wind through your hair, sea sparkling and the boat lifting and dipping in a heavy swell. The only other lifetime experience I compared this with, was riding my horse over hills and into valleys, through and over gates and paddling along streams. Those days have gone for good, but never the memories. They will remain with me forever.
     Soon after the delicate operation came to an end, I took off the dark glasses provided, peered into the mirror, and was utterly astonished at the dentist's ability to build a whole new tooth in the manner he did. It looked perfect, just like a tooth should look - the correct shape and size that fitted with others on the other side. It was even nicely polished and gleaming. I was delighted and congratulated him upon such an achievement. Needless to say, when I went to pay, was informed he would be no longer at that practice from the end of the month. Perhaps the grass was greener elsewhere. My heart sank once again. But soon his wife would take on the position. At least further treatments would be kept in the family and I was assured she was every bit as competent. Could she ever step into her husband's shoes, I wondered? Only time would tell. 

The Wicked Lady

A burly policeman stood tall, eyes narrowed and lips drawn tightly together. His legs were spread apart, feet planted firmly upon the floor, arms akimbo.
     'This is a serious crime you know. I may have to charge you.' A look of grim determination sketched over his face. He looked down at the lady standing in front of him frowning deeply at her.
     The grey haired lady hardly dare meet his gaze. She felt his dark eyes boring into her. 'Is it?' she replied, in a soft voice.
     'Yes it is, and what do you have to say for yourself, eh?' He could see her starting to quiver with nerves, but had no intention of letting up because of the gravity of the crime committed.
     The lady bit down on her bottom lip, wringing both hands against her waist, mortified. 'Oh...but...'
     The man stood firm, not budging with his questioning, for it had only just begun. 'You see fit to steal seeds and plants from anywhere you please...'
     'Oh no sir, not just anywhere,' she interjected, willingly admitting her involvement.
     By now the policeman was becoming aware that he didn't have a timid elderly lady on his hands, but one who had definite ideas of her own. 'And what do you mean by that if you please?'
     'Well sir, I'm very discerning. I'd never steal plants. Oh no! That really is stealing.'
     'Is that so? Anything else?'
     'Why, yes sir...' The lady glanced down at her hands, feeling his eyes still boring down at her like sharp daggers, before deciding to take the bull by the horns so to speak. She looked the policeman square in the face, her cheeks rosy with heated emotion and summoned up a little courage from where, she knew not. 'I can't help it if flowers go to seed, can I sir? If plucked at just the right time, you can gather them up, then sow them again later, thus starting the cycle over again. Don't you think that's something kind of special?' A slight smile broke out over her face, one of hope. She raised her eyebrows in anticipation.
     The policeman shifted his position, dropping his arms, placing his hands into his trouser pockets. By now he was trying hard not to smile, his mouth relaxing before contorting into an expression resembling worry. 'Well err...' He was momentarily stuck for words, not knowing how to deal with this unusual case before him.
     The lady continued, obviously completely missing the point in hand. 'My garden looks very nice sir, it's growing ever so well, and...'
     'There's more?'
     'Yes sir. I can't help it if plants flow over walls and across pathways. Sometimes the council just don't have enough time to keep things trimmed back - in the parks either.'
     By now the policeman was beside himself and didn't quite know how to take the next step. He frowned down at her. 'Indeed!'
     'You see,' the lady continued, regardless of what she was letting herself in for. 'I don't think it's so wrong to nip off a wee bit here and there as a small cutting and grow it on in my garden. I'm sure it would all go to waste otherwise - don't you think so sir?'
     'Err...' he began, before getting to the point once again. 'It's still a crime. You cannot go around stealing from wherever you please,' he insisted.
     The lady hung her head studying her shoes, still covered in soil. 'Oh dear! Is it sir? I had no idea...' She grasped her hands behind her back, expression one of deep concern.
     'Yes it is. Imagine if everyone went around nipping off the tops of plants? They'd probably be nothing left.'
      'I don't think so sir,' the grey haired lady replied, becoming animated. 'No one else seems to care as I do. Seeds simply drop to the ground, scattering and either get blown away or washed into puddles when it rains.'
     She looked up meeting his gaze again, becoming more confident with each passing moment. He appeared to be shaking his head slowly.
     'That's not the point.'
     'Isn't it sir? Oh dear,' she repeated. 'I'm sorry then...'
     The policeman was becoming exasperated. 'Are you?'
     'No sir.'
     'You're not sorry?' he asked in bewilderment.
     'Not really sir. I...' The lady wrung her hands again, shifting from one leg to the other, mouth twisting in confused contortion.
     The policeman crossed his arms. 'What am I to do with you, eh?' He stared at her, puzzled and confused, not really sure of the next step to take.
     The lady thought for a moment, her face darkening. 'You won't put me in jail will you sir? She coughed, her throat restricting with anguish. 'I mean, I'd simply hate it there - all cooped up and no garden to attend, no flowers or trees to look at or smell after the rain. I wouldn't even see the rain fall or the sun shine, would I?'
     The tall burly man stood erect, rolling his eyes. 'Certainly not! But what I think I will do,' he replied hesitantly. He placed an index finger against a cheek, deep in thought.
     Silence.
     'Is what sir?' the lady asked meekly, not really wishing to know his answer. She began to shake in fear of any consequences.

At that crucial moment, I awoke from the dream in somewhat of a lather, feeling more than a little guilty. I stared at the darkened outline of the few pieces of furniture dotted around my room, thinking about the dream I'd just experienced. I couldn't help smiling to myself knowingly, and bit my bottom lip slightly, aware a lot of the dream was true to life. 
     As the morning sunlight began peering around the edge of the long bedroom curtains pulled ajar, a pink glow flickered around the walls, casting a warm ambience upon the bed. Sitting on an old antique cabinet beside the bed, the radio played the BBC World Service theme music. The program had ended and it was time to greet another day.
     The winter morning dawned, rosy-fingered clouds marbling the sky with soft shades of pink and blue littering the hills in the distance.

      After breakfast I slid open the long door leading to the covered patio and gazed out over my relatively new garden.
     I'd worked hard in completely renovating it after discovering the roots of two large fig trees had in the past, complete free range of the garden, wandering at will causing a lot of damage. The largest root was a monster, having entered under the concrete of a storage area behind the double garage. It had not only lifted a very thick, large section of concrete path several inches high, but caused the floor of storage area to crack badly for several meters. Hence the two trees were removed. Somehow I managed most of it myself and been busy since, after rearranging and enlarging the back border, planting it with new plants - many of them white-flowering. Several new cuttings have been included to one end to be grown on 'for future reference.'
     It's been sheer pleasure watching everything grow on a daily basis. After breakfast I examine each and everyone for signs of new growth and been rewarded. A touch of blue was added in the form of Salvias. Most of the plants have thrived well into the winter season, being carefully chosen accordingly. At the peak of summer and beyond, they'll be expected to tolerate any extremities of heat. Lavenders are ideal for that. Hopefully everything else too.
     Although winter has settled in, many birds were in full song. A quick, constant twittering echoed from a garden nearby and as I listened intently, was unable to identify it. It reminded me of the robins in English gardens. 
     The air was full with freshness, promising to be mild, even a little warm. The lady in the dream breathed deeply and returned to her stove-top in the kitchen, where several groups of seeds were drying out ready for planting.
     She had been collecting seeds from many places over the years, even finding a few small, dried clumps in the odd garden center no one really wanted - needing to be dead-headed anyway. She was saving them the trouble. They might be scattered to the wind, so she found a good use for them - only a few and never took liberties.  Some would be sown soon, others nearer springtime. She smiled knowingly to herself. This summer would be even better than previous ones. She never considered herself wicked, but rather resourceful and creative, watching new plants begin their life, helping, encouraging, feeding, watering with careful nurturing. The tiniest seeds would germinate, bursting forth from the soil into a dizzying number of shapes, exquisite designs, colours and perfumes.
     This life cycle was a constant reminder of how beautiful the world around us is - to be enjoyed and appreciated, never ceasing to fascinate and being as a tiny drop in the ocean, the lady being involved in some small way, took pleasure in watching another cycle of life begin.

A Trip to the Hospital

There comes a time in one's life when you need to face the music - take the bull by the horns, grit your teeth and simply get on with it.
     The experience of hospitalization can be daunting for some, a little scary maybe, leaving you with a feeling of severe apprehension beforehand. But not for me! I was actually looking forward to it, with no pre-operation nerves whatsoever.
     In fact, I relished the idea, my thoughts positive. I packed a small bag with a few 'essentials' of my usual 'always take with you just in case' sort of things. A banana went in, a mandarin and my usual container of peppermint tea, (because the stomach has a nasty tendency to come back up the oesophagus and block the natural passage of food.) This has an interesting name called a hiatus hernia. Ah yes! Like many others I have one of those, but it's easily managed with a pill a few times a week, which keeps the wolf from the door - or rather food digesting. So I shrug it off and keep drinking the tea. I bless the person who once informed me of the benefits of drinking peppermint tea. It helps enormously with digestion and my container of this beneficial tea is taken with me to all corners of the globe if need be. It's become a necessary ritual. I'm delighted to add that even Qantas serve it in economy on long haul flights, much to my relief, but I still take a good supply 'just in case'! Also packed were a change of unmentionables, warm sox, a book, mobile phone and charger, etc. The latter was to prove essential a little later down the track.
     That small stomach 'issue' gets pushed briskly to one side as there is no use dwelling on it. It's insignificant, as is the painful shoulder. (Apart from the two bad tears in the rotator cuff from playing tennis, another spur has grown and that operation will just have to wait for now.) So too both hips need replacing, as I can't sit normally for long in the car or chair without stretching and fidgeting. I'm soon in agony. Very inconvenient at times! There are far worse off people in this world than my silly problems, so it puts things into perspective - most of the time! I'm told I have cataracts in both eyes which aren't serious as yet. At this rate I'll end up like something resembling the bionic woman! But one step at a time.
     So the day arrived. I wandered on time next door, as the remote garage door was lifting for my dear neighbour to drive me to the private hospital, not a long way from home. She has retired at a perfect time. We can help each other as much as necessary.
     Being dropped off in plenty of time, things soon began to happen and I was included onto the conveyor belt of patients who were to have a variety of things cut or taken out, altered, rearranged or removed altogether.
     There was a specific 'department' for 'my little issue' and into that I proceeded. Name, date of birth, past history and a huge list of pre-requisites were given several times over and red identification tags attached. Oh yes, I needed the red ones for specific identification. One to right ankle and one to right wrist. This was because I was foolish enough not wanting to end up in the river running through the center of Melbourne, so turned too suddenly up a path, consequently falling off my bike and breaking an ankle, leg bone, severing a ligament or two also. When I do something, I do it properly!  The handlebars folded so quickly that the bike landed on top of me. So they added a metal plate and four screws to the outside of my ankle. At least I was clever enough to choose the left leg and able to drive the car not too long afterwards with a boot - thus regaining a certain amount of independence, although needing to take crutches with me for far too long. These proved a cumbersome nuisance, but at least I was mobile. The operating theater staff needed to be reminded of such hazards! I do too, as when the screws protruding slightly, hit something, I go up the wall and down the other side.
     Then they needed to know if I had or were suffering from this, that or the other. I played safe and said no to everything - being healthy and eating my greens that is. The many consequences of smoking have never appealed to me anyway. Blood pressure, temperature and heart were all checked several times to make sure I wasn't going to die at an inappropriate time during the operation. They take particular care these days to cover their backs so to speak, to avoid being sued. I was even given a pair of socks covered in 'pimples' so I didn't slip on any floors later in the ward. But I have to get there first.
     Right on time, I was the first for the afternoon to be carved up. I enjoyed the young men taking charge as they wheeled my bed down corridors, around sharp bends, into the lift, then along more corridors.  To them I was just another candidate heading for the operating theater. Once the bend was so tight, they bumped me into a door, which resulted in me giving the culprit a black mark for his driving efforts! At one stage we passed some blessed fresh air infiltrating the constant temperature air-conditioning, when passing between the old and new building. I breathed deeply as if it was my last. I could now see why they did away with the very easy accessible car park to build an enormous new section to the hospital. It was certainly being used to capacity, as the conveyor belt moved on, at frightening speed. 
     The very pleasant anaesthetist visited me before the little drama in the operating theater got underway - giving me a rundown of proceedings. I'd had it in my mind to ask for an extra hour or two's deep sleep as I knew it would be my last for a very long time. Not a chance! He grinned but stuck to protocol, much to my disgust. He will do what he has to do and that's my lot. Well, it was a good try anyway and as the operation would be less than an hour's duration, I didn't have a hope in hell for a moment longer. I sighed pleasantly and smiled at him graciously in  acceptance. After all, I had no choice.
     Within the operating theatre where several men gathered, huge lights glared down, but thankfully not switched on. The equipment these days was a huge improvement from when I was five years old and tore my right knee open as I slipped and fell onto some crazy paving propped up against a wall, my father was using to build a terrace onto the back of the house. I even declared that scar on my first British passport.
     For a brief time you can't help feeling the center of attention. Then the needles went into my arm and my vision of those lights became blurred.
     I woke up in a long recovery ward of about a dozen or more beds all in a row each side of the room. Special nurses were allotted to look after you and a drip was attached to my left arm, the right was regularly being squeezed  and pummeled while the blood pressure was registering on the monitor behind the bed. I learned to read those monitors while watching the ones opposite for so long. For some unknown reason, many beds were wheeled in and out of position, while mine remained stationary. After a reasonable recovery period, the patients were wheeled to various wards where a vacancy existed if they were staying a night or longer. As I was to stay in for the night, I asked for a private room if one was available. Perhaps that was my biggest mistake. It took six long hours before my bed was finally moved to a ward and I was only sharing with one other lady, far younger than myself, but very pleasant.
     In the meantime, while thinking each time an orderly or man dressed in blue who moved the beds around approached, I waited with baited breath to see if it was mine. I wasn't that lucky. The nurses came and went as a new shift took charge.  They were polite and efficient and that recovery room must have seen many people that day. For example, the space next to me was changed with four different patients, as were the ones opposite. Men and women came and went - but I stopped put! At one time the staff gave up hope for me after phoning the appropriate person 'upstairs' to move me to a room and so just smiled.
     'I'm about to turn to stone,' I said to a passing nurse, trying to keep a stiff upper lip.
     More smiles. My derriere was aching, so too my hips. After hours being cooped up, knowing this wasn't for me, I even thought of jumping ship. But the bars prevented that. What now, and how can I relieve the hip pain. I was in agony, apart from the rest of me?
     I smiled sweetly and begged to walk to the little girl's room a good and wonderful fifteen meters away. It would definitely relieve the hips and the other bit would hopefully have blood circulating after feeling dead for some time on the hard bed. Oh to be home again!
     God bless that nurse who agreed to accompany me and it was sheer joy to walk away from that hard bed for a while - for some form, any form of circulation to return. Alas, it was all too brief and back to it I returned very reluctantly.
     Eventually a little food arrived in the form of a sandwich, a few dry biscuits in the usual 'Fort Knox' cellophane wrapper and same for an inviting piece of cheese. I devoured the lot after I finally worked out how to open the biscuit wrapper. Well at least it took my mind off my agony for a while. A piece of cellophane was torn-off thus becoming extremely static, much to my amusement. It would not detach itself from the end of my finger, and no manner of shaking, flicking or jiggling would remove it. This gave me the giggles and I held my finger up to a passing nurse for her to see. Again, it stuck to her finger, refusing to budge, but eventually detached itself after I became somewhat forceful.
     After the bed next to me had been removed with its occupant to a ward at least four times from men and ladies having had similar operations from a specific 'department' of the body, and the ones opposite several times, mercifully at last after a little muttering from a young man in blue about those people 'upstairs' needing a good kick up the ........,  it was time for me to go hence to yonder place. At two I arrived in the recovery room and as I thankfully vacated that particular room, the clock above said 8.03pm.
     Six hours later, I was at last on the move. It seemed to take forever down more corridors to eventually arrive in the ward.
     Unfortunately I'd missed a decent supper, so asked the young girl on duty for a little food if at all possible. It duly arrived - but not sweet potato soup to start with, or the roast beef with shiraz sauce served with vegetables, nor the chicken chasseur served with rice. An Italian style mixed bean and veggie hotpot with risoni was also on the mains section of the menu. For dessert there appeared a delightful choice of fruit yoghurt, apricot crumble with custard, ice cream, custard, and jelly. Then there were juices or a beverage to chose from. Alas, this wasn't to be this evening. I found this out later when given a menu to choose from, for lunch the next day.
     By this time, I'd made up my mind I wasn't leaving until I'd had a meal which I didn't have to cook myself. Years ago I'd vowed this when I had a large screw taken out of my leg at the same hospital - joking to the physician I'd be on the tennis court the next morning. It didn't go down too well after he cocked his head briefly with his eyebrows knitting together, so I gave up on that little joke, but missed out on a meal because they saw fit to kick me out beforehand.
     I was brought a pleasant and freshly made variety of sandwich triangles, lemon jelly, juice and tea instead. My heart sank. It did taste good though after such a frustrating long wait.
     I soon realized how much firmer hospital beds could be. Within no time, my hips were giving me grief, but at least I had a nice room and a television all to myself. I duly plugged my smart phone in behind the bed, tested the press button complex attached to a pillow, observing what all the buttons were for and settled in for the night - with Peppermint tea at the ready of course, 'just in case!' It soon became very useful indeed.
     Until late there was constant checking of pulse, temperature and blood pressure. In the recovery room they plug you in to the monitor, so it can be done regularly without a nurse to watch over you every moment. The latest equipment saves times and appears very efficient. They stick some metal gadget into your ear briefly though, to take your temperature. All so different 'these days'. No more trying to answer questions with a piece of glass hanging out of your mouth, always trying desperately to prevent it from falling out. Under the tongue it must stay and for what seems like forever. Those days have long gone. The monitors behind each bed in the recovery ward after the new occupant moves in, are very informative. A yellow light goes on when the bed is removed, so you can't escape or bail out, even if you wanted to. It gives the staff all the necessary information and the new building must have cost a whole heap of money I reckoned, while taking in the very latest in technology and equipment.   
     That night I had the luxury of not one, but two proper sleeping tablets with two pain killers for good measure. Oh great I thought! Blessed sleep at last. Wrong! The usual four hours were enjoyed at most, before voices were heard from the nurse and patient at 3.15am in the adjoining bed behind the curtain. That was my lot.
     I can't help thinking how different it was many years ago when quietness and hushed voices were observed. Lights were dimmed and bossy matrons in crisp starched uniforms scuttled about the wards keeping a close eye on the proceedings - or lack of them.  Even after having a baby, the afternoon nap was strictly observed, whether you embraced it or not.
     One has to move with the times and accept how things work these days. I'm wondering what the future will behold. The world has come a long way in a very short time. It's so easy to sink into lethargic beliefs from the past and rebel with what is thrown at you now. Being born after the war, I've been fortunate enough to remember steam trains, bread delivered by horse and cart and my poor mother washing clothes without a modern machine. No television, no frig; only a man delivering a huge block of ice on his shoulder at regular intervals and the 'little room' facilities weren't exactly the Ritz hotel either.
     I shared a spotlessly clean large bathroom, shower and all the accompaniments necessary for my all too brief hospital stay - it's been memorable at least.
     The best news I had concluding this latest and rare visit, was that there would be no further problems with this 'department'. Looking very smart and for once, somewhat animated which made me smile, the surgeon personally delivered the news at 10am the day after the operation, and I couldn't have felt happier, being close to tears. I think a little of my emotions rubbed off on him too.
     'See you in two weeks,' he waved, striding out of my room. The lady next door had already left. I smiled after him thinking he had done his job well. At least only time will tell, but I was convinced. It takes skill, perseverance and dedication to do what he does.
     The next day I enjoyed hearing the birds chirping in the park, morning sun glancing off dewy grass. I sniffed deeply at some late-flowering roses before reaching home after the usual morning walk. It was always good to be home again. My own bed felt deliciously comfortable. 
     That night I discovered three silver 'nipple' type square bits of tape still stuck to my chest, looking a bit like one side of a press stud. One under the left breast. Hmm... I guess they want you to have a few momentos of your stay and here's me asking if I could wear a T-shirt under my white gown to protect my modesty! 'Everything off!' the nurse repeated. So I humbly obeyed. After all, it is necessary for the operating theatre staff to have complete access to your body. I soon realized they needed to monitor your heart rate etc., and can't have you croaking it on their watch.
     The conveyor belt of patients will continue each day at the hospital, and there may be more visits on the horizon - but for now, it's all been worth it.
    
       

Footsteps on the Stairs.

Sara walked a short distance, paused sniffing the air fragrant with spring flowers, warm sunshine delighting her senses, and smiled knowingly to herself. It caressed her cheeks softly as she continued to stroll cautiously through the park with Molly ambling along beside her. 
     Her guide dog became her constant companion after the loss of her sight in a serious road accident. They trusted each other completely, with Sara feeling a huge need to have Molly with her at every opportunity, trusting her explicitly.  
     It took a long time before she plucked up courage to venture out alone, but knowing the area in detail before the accident, helped her enormously to gain confidence.
     She had plunged well into her thirties, seeking to become a competent lawyer, always passing exams with flying colours.
     It was a terrible shock to learn she had almost completely lost sight in both eyes, causing severe depression, not able to carry out her duties at work or at home for a long time afterwards. She needed to come to terms with what had happened, accepting the fact she was blind, and the sooner the better. Then as she accepted the turmoil it caused in her life, would need to readjust and carry on regardless. In helping to overcome the trauma, she realized there were other people in the world far worse off than her, but still she was ill at ease with her condition, often slipping back into depression - until one day Molly was presented to her. From then on, they became the best of friends, her guide dog being indispensable in no time. 
     Although Molly was pre-trained beforehand, having a keen sense of everything around her, she soon became Sara's eyes, lifting her out of her deep-seated depression, learning fast what was asked of her.
     Molly was a jet black Labrador, with a gentle loving nature, alert and always willing to carry out even the smallest of tasks. She was proving to be an important addition in Sara's life.
     Apart from several close friends, she had never married, but it was another thing she needed to deal with, shrugging it off in order to rid herself of any self pity. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself, considering it a waste of time instead. 
     'Isn't that right Molly?'
     Sara bent down, running a hand smoothly over her guide dog's satin-black coat and ears.
     As the sun flickered through trees, their branches becoming heavier with the new season's bright green leaves, although she couldn't see them, she could feel Molly's ears pricked up with alertness. She had been chosen carefully, her personality matching Sara's perfectly.
     Molly whimpered in answer, her tail waving backwards and forwards before Sara felt her stiffen slightly.
     'What is it girl?  Have you seen something that troubles you?'
     She crouched down, laying her stick carefully on the ground before running both hands over the animal's fur sensing something was wrong, not knowing what it could possibly be, which puzzled her. 
     The day was warm with a gentle breeze, sun streaming down with genuine warmth now that spring was almost turning into summer. Trees rustled as children played not far away. Laughter could be heard from the playground nearby.
     They often took a stroll in the park, a short distance from her apartment, mainly in the weekends. Sara was back at work full time and able to take Molly everywhere with her, now they were inseparable.
     The apartment was in a small block of several flats built in the Victorian era, old and creaking. Floors were wooden, ceilings high, with Sara's apartment being on the first floor. Both she and Molly negotiated the staircase with ease and it was seldom they ventured out at night. There was a small lift which they used on occasion, but often preferred the exercise using the stairs, being good for Molly also. 
     Her friends came for supper from time to time, but mostly she was on her own with only Molly for company. Sara learned to read in braille, enjoying the books on offer at the local library. They both loved the outdoors, with a stroll in the park when the weather was conducive.
     She looked around, trying to feel if anything was different. Her senses had become more intense, hearing and feeling both with her mind, intuition and natural intelligence.
     She felt something was bothering Molly, but couldn't ascertain what it was.
     They continued on hesitantly a little further until Sara stood still. 'Let's go home shall we Molly?' she suggested, feeling concerned. 'I think the sun has gone behind some clouds and the air is a little chilly.'
     Her dog whimpered in reply, trembling slightly. 
     Although it was still warm and only mid afternoon, Sara couldn't help a cold shiver running down her spine. She was still worried about Molly's sudden reaction in the park and as they set off, felt her nuzzle more closely against her leg. Was it for protection? she wondered.

That night after listening to the television for a while, Sara decided to try reading in bed. She was still puzzled about Molly and fondled her head and furry ears before rising out of a soft leather chair. 
     Together they padded up the wooden staircase to her bedroom, as her apartment was on two levels. There was a direct main entrance door from a small landing into the sitting room, with her kitchen leading off that, an unusual swing door existing between the two rooms.
     She lay in a hot bath, listening to some Beethoven, French horns sounding distinctly during a movement of his pastoral symphony. She always loved this piece of music, reminding her of the sweeping English countryside she could see before the accident, but not now.
     She sighed when it was finished. 'Wasn't that simply beautiful Molly? Don't you just love the music evoking the countryside?'
     Her dog sat up and barked once, causing Sara to laugh.
     'So you are in full agreement? I am glad. I'm not the only one with problems you know. That composer had his fair share of anguish too. Imagine being that musical and talented to write what he wrote, but slowly going deaf - not being able to hear your own music?' 
     She glanced over to where she heard Molly panting gently. 'Do you know I was told, that after he conducted a new piece of music at a concert for the first time, had to be turned around to witness the applause. Life isn't fair at times, but we just have to grin and bear it - don't we my lovely girl?'
     Another immediate bark came from Molly, then another.
     Sara continued, smiling to herself while sweeping waves of water over her body. Molly listened quietly beside the bath tub, dark brown eyes always alert. 
     'Monet had trouble with his eyes, but thankfully had an operation which meant he could return to painting with normal colours again - and the cellist Jacqueline du Pre was struck down at the height of her career. I wasn't born when she played with such talent - put her whole heart and soul into her music I believe.'
     After a long soak in the bath, Sara returned to her bedroom. The wooden floors were old and near the side of her bed a floorboard was broken, causing a severe dip over time, gradually becoming larger. She was used to dodging it with her stick feeling the hole, always stepping over it. She promised herself to have it repaired one day, but never got around to it. There were a few things like that, the latch on the walk-in pantry window being another.
     She sat up in bed with a large book, slowly moving her fingers over the words, until eventually she became drowsy and slept. Molly lay beside her on the floor, comfortably snug on her own bed.
     Soon after the clock downstairs struck one, immediately Molly sat up alert, ears pricked, a deep growl coming from her throat before placing her head lightly onto her front paws again, still listening.
     A faint noise was heard downstairs causing her head to rise suddenly, another growl emanating from her chest. It immediately woke Sara, usually a deep sleeper.
     'What is it Molly? What troubles you?' she asked in hushed tones.
     She wasn't content to fall asleep again, but rather lay still listening.
     Another noise was heard, this time alerting them both - a faint creaking that sounded like the swing door from the kitchen. 
     'There must be someone in my flat,' she whispered to Molly.
     The room felt eerily cold, where dampness hung like cobwebs. She sensed they were still there from winter that lingered long this year.
     Suddenly she heard more sounds coming from downstairs. Her breathing stopped as she strained her ears to listen, realizing it must be a man, as the footsteps on the stairs were too light for any woman's. Sara froze.
     It was a harrowing experience, for now her whole being was threatened, her soul in torment. This was no time to be blind. Her breathing remained shallow, while her heart pounded like hammer blows against her chest. She strained her ears as she stood listening, but for the moment all she could do was try to think. If she screamed, alas it wouldn't be heard in the flat above. The man who lived there was a shift worker and would not be home until much later. The old lady below was almost deaf, and wouldn't hear a stampede of elephants through her rooms.
     Sara's heart sank. She needed to think and fast, there was no time to lose. The sound of her bedroom door opening, frightened her beyond belief. For what seemed like hours, precious moments were slipping away. She ran to the door trying to secure it with something heavy. But what? There was no lock on it. Her chest of drawers was on the other side of the room and it was too late to shift it. With no lock, she stood thinking, fear rising within her, but nothing came to mind.
     As footsteps were heard entering, making a slow shuffling noise, her legs felt weak under her, barely able to hold her up. She shook in utter fear wondering why Molly wasn't at her side barking. 
     She heard breathing, that smelt heavily of alcohol, making her recoil. She whirled around to face her intruder square on, feeling his eyes piercing her very soul.
     'What do you want of me?' she asked timidly at first, becoming more defiant. 
     There was no answer but a stony silence.
     'Why have you come here?
     Sara felt his cold stare upon her and shivered with its intensity. All had gone quiet around her. More and more she experienced his cold hard stares. It mounted to a persecution never before experienced.
     She lifted her chin again wondering where Molly was and why hadn't she made a move.
     A strange sound of murmuring came from somewhere in front of her.
     'What was that?' she asked shakily in a low voice, not realizing he was so close. She could still distinctly smell strong alcohol on his breath and recoiled in disgust. The heavy breathing claimed all her attention, causing her whole body to freeze rigid. She felt his scrutiny upon her wondering why he hadn't made a move to kill her, or even attack.
     'What do you want and why are you here?' she asked again in a low desperate tone,' standing her ground.
     Immediately she heard the man step closer. 'Sometimes I don't think I know you at all. I saw you in the park again today and wanted you there and then. I mean to make you mine.'
     Sara was shocked and fell silent, trying to think on her feet quickly, at the same time feeling a sense of utter desperation.
     'You know that isn't possible,' she answered, wondering if he was about to make a move towards her.
     There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. 
     'Why isn't it?
     It was obvious he was not going to accept her answer.
     She dared to reply. 'Because for one thing, I wish to live alone.'
     'I could certainly help you there,' the voice leered.
     It frightened her so much, she thought her legs would give way altogether. She shook so uncontrollably, then made a brave attempt to ask a question. 
     'How did you get in anyway?' Her face creased in a deep frown.
     She heard a low snigger. 'The pantry window was ajar. You saw to that, making it easier for me. All I needed to do was find your room to claim you as mine. I'm good at climbing walls too.'
     Sara shuddered knowing that catch should have been mended long ago. It was too late now, she thought.
     'You have no right to me or my home,' she retorted, feeling his leering eyes and alcohol breath move over her again.
     At that moment he made a sudden rush to grab her, but thankfully she anticipated his advance and stepped back avoiding his grasping arms. Immediately Molly leapt out from under the bed where she'd been waiting her chance, and flew at the man pinning him down briefly. But he was too large and powerful, soon overpowering her, pushing the snarling dog off him.
     Sara screamed several times with horror, shaking uncontrollably, stepping back trying to find her stick she always carried. At first she couldn't find it, but feeling around frantically, soon picked it up to ward off her attacker.
     Molly wasn't put off in the slightest and as she growled deeply waiting to pounce again, the man rushed at them, consequently falling into the hole where the broken floorboard still remained. He fell heavily, tripping over his own feet, crashing to the floor in front of them, cursing and swearing as he lay there unable to move. Molly whimpered as she bit into his hand, yelping with glee while causing the intruder immense pain - successfully pinning him down, sprawled across the floor.

At that moment an off-duty policeman  walking home, heard the screams, and immediately followed them to Sara's apartment. He banged on the door furiously, thinking a murder was being committed.
     Another man came racing up the stairs to join him. Tom, Sara's neighbour from the flat above, was returning home unusually early after his shift.
     'What is it?' he asked anxiously, puffing and out of breath. 'What's going on?'
     'That's what I'd like to know,' the policeman answered, banging on the door again.
     Then it opened slowly. Sara stood there shaking so much she could barely speak.
     The policeman stood back for a moment, taking in the girl's appearance. Although it was still dark, light from inside the apartment shone onto the young woman slumped against the open door. She was beautiful, then he noticed she appeared to be blind.
     'Are you alright lady?' he enquired. 'I heard screams coming from here and came as quickly as I could. I'm a policeman, an off-duty one at that.' He showed her his identification, then realized she couldn't see it, so replaced it in his pocket. 
     Although Sara was still shaking uncontrollably holding her stick, her breathing coming in short gasps, she nodded slowly.
     'Yes... I'm fine, but there's a man up there and I think he has broken his ankle, judging by the painful moans.'
     She nodded in the direction of some stairs.
     The policeman checked her appearance briefly. 'Oh dear! Did he attack you in any way? Is he still dangerous? I must...'
     Sara gave a short laugh. 'Not now I don't think. My dog has seen to that.'
     'I see! Would you mind if I take a look?'
     Tom made a move to help, but the policeman put a restraining arm out first.
     'Think I'd best see to this. But if you would wait here with Miss...?'He asked Sara her name, then proceeded up the stairs two at a time.
     She almost collapsed at that moment and leaned against a wall, head lowered.
     'May I get you some tea or something?' Tom asked, sympathetically, taking one look at her.
     'Yes... thank you. That would help, or perhaps even a brandy.' She led the way to the kitchen with Tom following.
     'But I'll manage,' she said, feeling for the kettle to fill.
     Soon the policeman returned with her attacker in tow, moaning in obvious pain. He was handcuffed and limping badly, barely able to walk at all. Molly followed looking pleased with herself. She went over to rub against Sara's leg, enjoying the attention she received.
     'I've already called for an ambulance and will need to go with him,' the policeman remarked. 
     He gave the man a small shove with his spare arm.
     'No doubt he will be charged after being questioned and I'm sorry you have been put through this. Not a pleasant thing at all. Thank goodness you appear to be alright, apart from being badly shaken.'
     Sara drew a deep breath. 'Yes, I am too, but it's over thanks to Molly here.'
     She bent down to put her arms around her hero.
     'Now I know why you hid under the bed and waited your chance. You sensed what was going to happen, didn't you, you clever dog? You waited until just the right moment to pounce.'
     She laid her head down onto Molly, feeling very grateful. She felt her companion's loyalty, her tail wagging briskly.
     'What would I do without you now, huh?' 
     The policeman sniffed and led the grunting man towards the front door to await the ambulance outside, beginning to moan in agony. Somehow no one was feeling any sympathy for him. He paused briefly before passing through it, turning to face Sara for the last time.
     'It's a good thing that floorboard was broken,' he commented, giving a hint of a grin. 'I think it might have saved you from a very unpleasant experience.'
     Before Sara could reply, Molly gave a loud bark.
     'That's your answer,' she smiled, nodding towards Molly.