Every morning, an elderly lady steps out into the courtyard of our flat block. Shes about eighty, always dressed neatly and with care.
I moved into the building at the end of autumn. On my way to work each day I would see my neighbour. Sometimes she sat on a bench beneath a towering lime tree, other times she shuffled slowly, leaning on her cane.
After a while we started to exchange greetings. I would pause briefly to ask after the health of Ethel Harper and wish her a pleasant day. She always returned my smile warmly and thanked me.
At the end of December a new resident appeared in our courtyard: a dog. It seemed young, being quite small, but no one knew where it had come from.
It was a scruffy, dirty creature, its coat tangled, with no clear breed. When Ethel tossed it a sliver of sausage, its fate was sealed: from that moment on it stayed in the courtyard. It likely would not have survived elsewhere, given how miserable it looked.
Most of the flats occupants werent thrilled by its presence. Many tried to chase it away, shouting Go on, get lost! whenever it trotted over, eyes pleading for a scrap of food.
Still, it managed to nab something now and then someone would fling a piece of bread crust, another a small bone. Ethel also gave it stale biscuits or leftover bread, speaking softly while patting its head, calling it Patch.
In spring, when the snow had almost melted away, I met Ethel one morning in the courtyard. She told me she would be leaving that evening with her granddaughter for the countryside and would stay there until autumn.
Perhaps even until the end of autumn, she added. Theres a woodburning stove there, and by it its warm even on the coldest nights.
She asked me to promise a visit.
At the end of August I finally made the trip to see Ethel. After buying her a small present, I caught the bus to the village where she was staying.
When I arrived, I found her sitting on the veranda, peeling large red apples. Beside her, stretched on a wooden step, the dog lay calmly.
Patch, come and greet our guest! the old lady called.
The dog bounded up, tail wagging merrily, and raced toward me.
It was a beautiful animal now, its coat glossy and wavy, catching the sunlight.
MrsHarper, is this really the same scruffy Patch from our courtyard? I asked, surprised.
Yes, thats him! Hes turned into a real beauty! Ethel replied with a grin. Come in, have a cup of tea and tell me all the news from the city!
We sat for a long while, sipping cherryinfused tea and chatting. After his porridge, Patch curled up near the hot stove, sighing softly in his sleep perhaps dreaming of something.
Outside, a gentle breeze made the apple trees branches sway, and ripe red apples fell slowly onto the grass.
The experience reminded me that kindness, however small, can transform a life, and that patience and compassion often reveal the unexpected beauty hidden in the most humble of places.
