She sits in the windowsill, wrapped in her dressing-gown and warming her hands with a mug of black tea. Legs drawn up. Head against cold glass. Watching the day start.
She sips the tea and then hears the hooves.
She looks down and watches the man in the bright white suit leading a horse along the road. The suit cuts through the gloom like a rehearsal for the sunrise. She’s watched him for the last few days. He is unaware he even has an audience; he’s just doing his job.
The man in the bright white suit stops the horse outside the house of her neighbour. He walks to the side of the horse and pats it fondly. He slides back a door in its body - undetectable unless you’re really looking for it - and takes out two ice-cold bottles of milk. He walks up her neighbour’s path without making a sound and rests the milk by the door. He rubs his hands together to warm them up and walks back to the horse. He slides the little door shut, walks to the front of the horse and leads it to a house at the bottom of the road where he will repeat the process.
She sips her tea again and thinks, One day… one day she’ll be up and dressed at this time and she’ll go out and say hello.
And if she gets nervous and can’t think of anything to say, well, that horse is something of a conversation piece.