Observers

A middle aged mother paced along the window outside with the phone in her hand. Two children of elementary age grip the windowsill and discreetly peer out the glass. "She looks upset", the boy whispered. Alarmed. "She's just talking on the phone", his sister responded calmly. Their mother stopped, back facing her windowsill children and hand finding the side of her face, staring into the trees of their backyard. "Something's happened", "Something's wrong" his eyes widened. His sister's eyes rolled. "She's fine." But she continued to watch intently anyway. Their mother clicked off the phone in her hand and stayed there, still, facing winding branches of oak trees. Ignoring the two observers she'd borne.