Awaiting Sunset

She walks up to the top of the hill,
slowly, so slowly, taking her time
a bag of fruit in her hand,
as is her daily custom.
People at the top, she moves away.
Alone, to the side, she sits down,
smoothes out her skirt, and looks out over the city below.
A tangelo in her hand she contemplates the world as it appears before her.
Seconds, minutes, hours pass fiercely into oblivion.
As the sun sets she peals her fruit.
Hope.