What Pegman Saw: A way of seeing

Image: Google Earth

Hanna woke early, pushed her feet in to her sheep skin slippers, soft against her bunions.

On the stairs she always came down backwards now, since the fall.

At the kitchen counter, she rested her forefinger on the edge of the loaf, using the digit as a measure. She’d hook a finger over the rim of her coffee cup too, stop pouring when the heat reached her nail. Damn cataract operation couldn’t come soon enough.

After breakfast she walked to the lake, her stick sinking into the mud, grit rolling under her boots. At the mud flats she stopped, looked over the water, breathed in the day.

She missed the details, but she knew the sun twinkled like fairy lights on the water, that the birds sang out, defending territory and new broods.

Spring was on its way and it was going to be a good one.

***

Written for What Pegman Saw, the prompt that uses Google Street View for inspiration. This week we are in Polanczyk, Poland. See here to join in.

12 thoughts on “What Pegman Saw: A way of seeing

  1. This is beyond comment, Lynn.
    It is a poem of tiny details creating a person, a life, a situation, and a joie de vivre that leaves me (almost) speechless in admiration.
    Utterly wonderful.

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    1. Aw, thank you C. Some of these were tricks my nan used as her eyesight and mobility grew worse – I distinctly remember her walking downstairs backwards, in some pretty impractical, flappy slippers! She’d been in service and then worked in a brewery – she was tough. So glad you thought it all came together. Thank you again for your kind words. Be well and stay safe

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  2. Wonderful details, Lynn! And of course, given my current vision problems, I can totally relate to this character. I even use the same trick to fill up my cup or glass! I can bear up in part because I can look forward to having this @#$# oil bubble taken out in the next operation, and being able to see well again. But this is excellent practice for me, to come to terms with what it will probably be like when I am as old as this woman, and will be lucky if I can see as well as I do now. With all the squinting and loss of detail, I can still mostly get by, and that’s worth a lot!

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  3. I love the way you show us how the woman is old, perhaps very old, but both indomitable and full of what CE calls joie de vivre. Hanna is living heroically, and it makes good reading!

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  4. Dear Lynn,

    Hanna walked off the page and into my heart. You’ve painted a three dimensional character with few words. You do this magnificently.

    Shalom and good health,

    Rochelle

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  5. Such a beautiful write, Lynn. You bring us right into Hanna’s world and her lack of self-pity makes her all the more loveable.

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    1. Aw, thank you, Dale. So many older people do lack self pity. My nan was almost blind at the end, arthritic, pretty deaf. But she found ways of coping, of hobbling around her own home right to the end. A tough lady. Thank you for writing

      Liked by 1 person

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