a tempting fate

by uzwi

It’s the end of a December afternoon. The tourists have gone back to South Korea for the winter, leaving empty all the little low pedestrian bridges of Cotswold stone. From outside I watch you step to your window and, one hand raised to the curtain, look down at the ducks busy in the wide shallow stream, and think for a minute: “It is rather beautiful,” and, “We are rather blessed,” and then close the curtain and step back into the room and go back to your life, because privilege never likes to be aware of itself, or acknowledge itself, in case of tempting fate.