A couple decades difference in our ages, a dozen years as neighbors, perhaps a handful of brief chats through the lattice and hydrangeas.
A few times I put your newspaper at your door so you wouldn't have to retrieve it in bathrobe and slippers.
So as not to disturb you, I bring my dog in before the third bark.
The empty recycling can is a different issue. I fell trying to pick it up out of the gutter and then crashed it into the side of your house attempting to put it where it belongs. Until that day, I thought I was so much younger than you.
I check on you after earthquakes and when the power goes out.
I see you come and go, an active social lady. Your clothes and hair always stylish. Your smile always sweet.
Oh, and the comfort I get hearing the laughter and murmured conversations of your garden parties beyond the fence.
Once more, last night, as I closed my curtains, your house was dark. Dark with ethereal silence.
Mary, who could have known how much I would miss you?