Hancock Stories: Mr. Squires.
It was the turn of the season and half the leaves had fallen and the low hills and valleys still blazed with color but the sun had lost its bite and now shone soft and yellow during the last warm days. I pottered in my garden, a man of retirement age not yet ready to lay down, I pottered and I contemplated and moved things around, stones and branches and pulled, uprooted Bishops Weed and made compost piles and felt the earth and thought about planting garlic. I think he first commented on the garden and how the yard had changed since he'd delivered groceries to the old woman who’d lived upstairs. She worked as a caretaker at that retirement home on the hill when it was a hospital. What happened to her?" he asked. “She died a while back”, I said. "You retired?”, he asked and I had to think about that again and realized that in many ways I was and I answered affirmatively but noted I still did a few things. I was hanging on I guess and winter is coming. He...