That spot, her spot. The spot where she would lie on, the perfect spot. The western sun would create a shadow from the house, there you still had a bit of light without the heat, but the warmth and cool, in equilibrium. She favoured that spot greatly, especially in the August days. Possibly she had known her final hours were near, and to not spend it all on chasing a bird. That too might have been difficult with all the pain she felt. So, she chose to live it out, in the spot she knew, she felt most comforted by. Why didn’t she come to me instead? Was she ashamed, was she scared or was she too proud? Why was I not given a final goodbye?
