late

On my drive home, there is a woman who sits out on her porch late at night, reading a book. The porch light is dim and yellow, and she sits with her feet propped up on the railing, alone, well past midnight. I feel lonely and happy all at once when I see her, because she seems so complete out there alone. I admire her from afar.

In the daylight, I saw a little girl wearing a long skirt drop her bike on the sidewalk and run up the stairs of the same house, and I smiled. The woman's late nights make even more and less sense now.