for_sale tender_square shadows shimmered behind the windows as we walked up the driveway; the owner was there, something the selling agent didn't mention. a friendly man with a prominent mole informed us that all the doors were unlocked and open. a second man, an older one, sat by a nearby window, distant and withdrawn, reluctantly thrust into the action. i wondered if the first man was his son preparing the property before an assisted living arrangement. the backyard had an in-ground pool encased in a separate dwelling, a feature my aunt adored from a distance. my mother and i were there by proxy, relaying structural details and first impressions. she worried about the utilities her sister would encumber. the first man was not forthcoming about the average costs of upkeep. "joy took care of those bills and now she's not here anymore." the second man sat quietly at a table meant for two, and her absence filled the space across from him. the house was in transition and disarray, ephemera neatly piled. when joy leaves you, how can the walls that encased you not be a constant reminder of what once was? 230206 what's it to you? who go blather from