182 The Meadow But the wind doesn’t make the curtains move Michael Estabrook On the far end of town a tiny blue trailer rests quietly near the railroad tracks. I pass it every day to and from work. I’m told a little-old lady lives there, though I’ve never seen even a glimpse of her. There is no dog either, nor any cats mewing at the side steps. All I ever see are coveralls and some gray underthings hanging out on the tattered line strung limp between two trees. And sometimes the door is open or a window, but the wind doesn’t make the curtains move.
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