After several, searching attempts
Tilda concluded that – without a key
There was no way possible to open the door
It was late, dark, rather chilly
The cheeks of her face felt cold
Now, aware of a woman walking towards her
Noticing how the woman’s hips swayed rhythmically
In time with music that Tilda could not hear
She felt awkward, standing outside on the path
Under the glow of lamp light
She tried her best to look nonchalant
Which, in such circumstances
Is hard to fake
Thrusting both hands into the warm depths
Of her pockets
She held them perfectly still
Wondering, if she should affect a switch
Hold her hands clasped behind her back instead
Randomly, Tilda kicked at a small roughened stone
In front of her – and to her shock
Watched, as it it rattled down the path
Towards the woman
With an about-turn, embarrassed
Tilda whistled two notes through dry lips
The second note faded into the night air
Quickly, she abandoned the idea of more whistling
Regretting having started in the first place