Amber L. Talbot

I noticed her before I meant to. She was sitting at one of the picnic tables near the trees, half‑turned toward the sunlight, hair catching the light like it remembered other summers. The table was cluttered with plates and soda cans, but she didn’t seem to notice; she was too busy watching everything else — the grill smoke drifting, the kids chasing each other, the world just happening. There was something about the way she leaned forward, almost restless, like she was waiting for the next interesting thing to happen and wouldn’t mind if it never did. When she laughed to herself, low and quick, I realized she wasn’t just at the picnic — she was exploring it, like it might open into somewhere new if she looked long enough.