I like walking alone in the city. I am able to stop on a whim, peer in store windows, inhale odors of exotic, ethnic foods, surreptitiously people watch during my stroll.
It’s a beautiful, early February afternoon and I’m wandering through the city’s arts district. I watch as one young man places his sculpture in a window. Two faces, deliberately unfinished, emerge from a block of stone. The male, a fine self-portrait of the artist in rapture; the female, a willing, but conflicted, recipient of his love. My heart knows it is no accident that the woman he has immortalized is my beloved wife.
(Photo by Claire Fuller, Friday Fictioneers, February 1, 2013.)