|7/29/20 Green Lake neighborhood|
“Oh, you’re sketching. . .?”
I was standing in this dead-end street in front of the house where the man had come from. I held up my sketchbook so he could see what I was doing. As he approached the edge of my “safe zone,” I said, “I’m sorry. . .” and started to back away. Normally, I would have enjoyed sharing my sketchbook as I have with countless curious passers-by who have approached me these past nine years.
He stopped immediately and backed off himself. Embarrassed, he said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. . . I got so interested that I forgot . . .”
We chatted briefly from a safe distance. As he turned toward his house, I said, “I would have loved to have shown you my sketches.”
Nodding, he smiled and said, “Maybe in a year. . . ?”
It broke my heart.