1790. To catch a thief
© Bruce Goodman 14 April 2020

Zenobia watched the man in the distance. He seemed to be bending over something. He’d been there for some time. Zenobia couldn’t drag herself away from her kitchen window. What was he doing? The minute she stopped watching of course the man would move away.

It must have been for ten minutes. The man had barely moved. If she dashed to the closet where they kept the binoculars the man would go away – sure as eggs. He must have been three or four hundred metres away. The man was on the neighbour’s property, but it wasn’t the neighbour. Perhaps he was a thief. Perhaps if there was a vehicle nearby she could write down the registration number.

If he was a thief he would hardly be bending down all this time, possibly clearing a drain of leaves or something like that. There! He moved! Just a bit!

Enough is enough! Zenobia dashed to the closet, grabbed the binoculars, and returned. The man was still there.

She focused. There he is! Right there! Oh dear! It was just a piece of discarded polythene plastic moving a little in the breeze.

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