Dar Thomas

In the trees outside her second-story home office, birds chatter manically, the way they seem to on only spring mornings. Somewhere along the street, a neighbor’s dog is caught in a cycle of howling, a plaintive, almost desperate sound, as if in a state of pain or alarm.

You just don’t go knocking on someone’s door and tell her you’ve been watching her for the last couple months. They have a word for that.