A stranger across the courtyard

I haven't seen a stranger in a while. I go through a world of the same old faces. The shopkeeper who tells me times are rough. The man who grunts behind the counter. My neighbour always in her slippers, the one who says Good Morning as if every day is the brightest she has ever seen.

On my balcony are plants I call Alfred and Rodney. As I water them one day, I see a woman across the courtyard. She is placing a cardboard box up high. Her shirt lifts slightly up over her hips. Then the cardboard box slips down and she picks it up again.

The second time I catch sight of her, she is dancing in her room. The third, she is walking across the courtyard.

She has skin the colour of dark gold, and her hair curls around her face. She walks lightly, purposefully. On her way out, she pets the caretaker's cat.

She must be new.