An old couple lived down the street from me. There was a glider under a large shade tree on their front lawn, and every evening during the warmer months, you would find them in that glider together. They were happy and content. I would pass their house when I went for my jog through the park. We would wave and smile, or nod as people do. We never spoke. For years this ritual continued. Roxanne and I would pass them often, and we imagined who they were, what they did, when and why they settled in Wauconda. We developed a genunine connection with them, and I always looked forward to seeing them. It has been months since I've seen them. I think their dead. The house is empty, the glider is gone. I am saddened we never spoke. After Roxanne died, I wanted to connect with them, as if somehow they knew her, and I felt they would be comforting.