Bed Ridden

And so the days passed, one after another never ceasing, never changing. Well, actually this wasn’t completely true; it only felt true to Susan who lay in her hospital bed surrounded by four white walls, white sheets, and a single window to mark the turn from day to night, and night to day. She lay on her side most of the day looking out the window. The tree right outside shaded her room for the first few months, but then it turned cold and the leaves turned yellow then brown and then fell to the ground leaving her with a new view. She could see across the road now, she could see the stone steps of the library, and the kids sitting on them after school waiting for their parents to come pick them up. She could see the old man who came every day around noontime to smoke his pipe, puff puff, and walk inside. He would reappear about an hour later, book in hand, reaching for his pipe, puff puff. And away he walked. She could see her sister, who stopped by the library before coming to visit her. She always brought Susan a new book to read; since this was about all she could do besides watch the people come and go up and down the stone library steps. She remembered how the stone turned to ice in the cold, and then soaked up the sun in the summer, changing with the seasons just the way her tree seemed to do. She watched.