you're own personal jesus

Estelle is 93 and a grand old woman about town.
She lives alone on Macleay Street.
Save for a dog called Bunyip.
They walk each other regularly.
Estelle visits the market almost everyday,
sits by the fountain ...... and watches.

In winter
she still manages to venture out,
takes a cushion to sit on
and a woollen shawl
that she bought in Prauge in 1951.
She drapes it over her legs.

Never in much of a hurry...
even if she wanted to,
she couldn't be .... i guess.

Always and without fail
Estelle wears a hat,
or so it seems...
I've never known a woman with so many hats.
Brimmed,peaked,creased or angled.
With veil, feather, stone or trinket.
Laced,beaded,turned up or turned out.
Over the top and just perfectly so.

One day I say
Estelle ... you're hats.
there amazing ... and ...
I've got 364 of them she interupts intuitivally.
One for each day ..... except one.

She tells me that on her birthday
each and every year her husband
would sit her down by the window.
The view ... Elizabeth Bay ... and beyond.
He would pour her a glass of vive clicquot
(here's lookin at you kid)
Then he would wash her hair.
And brush her hair.
They would talk about the children
and that film or sometimes say nothing.

He died 6 years ago you know
and I miss that and I miss him...
Thats why I don't wear a hat on my birthday.
I like to feel the wind in my hair
and the spray from that fountaiin .....

It reminds me of him.