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It was December--a bright frozen day in the early morning.
Moving a little from side to side in her steps, with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a grandfather clock.
She carried a thin, small cane made from an umbrella, and with this she kept tapping the frozen earth in front of her.
"Out of my way"
Under her small black-freckled hand her can, limber as a buggy whip, would switch at the brush as if to rouse up any hiding things.
"Seems like there is chains about my feet, time I get this far"
The path ran up a hill.
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