Gladyse Avery had a thriving nursery for many years. She was the pride of Sanford, Maine, always having the hardiest tomato sets and the most beautiful roses. It was a sad day when her doctor advised this lonely widow of her oncoming blindness.

I'd taken care of her clocks for many years. They were common shelf clocks, but to her, they were her friends in the quiet evenings. When she couldn't make out the numbers on the dials any longer, she asked me to remove the glass in each of her clocks. Having finished the last clock, I dropped by to deliver it.

She touched the hands of the clock and said "Fine, fine, thank you." As usual she invited me to a cup of tea. It was already dusk. The tea was ready, and I helped her to put the cups and saucers on a serving tray. She brought the steaming teapot over to the table, and I guided her hand as she set it on the tray.

"Let's sit out by the back door. It's stuffy in here, and we can sit out there and listen to the crickets."

Sound and touch were very important to Gladyse now that she had lost her eyesight. I reflected upon my vocation as a clockmaker, pondering how it would be to continue my work with limited eyesight or even the loss of use of one hand.

On the way out the back door, she scooped up a handful of what looked like cat food. She was quite capable of navigating to the lonely white table in the middle of the tiny secluded back yard. She took her usual seat, and I sat down beside her, reaching over to serve tea.

In complete darkness, we listened to the sounds in her world. She identified crickets, bullfrogs, a passing motorist, the neighbor's barking dog, and the meow of Mrs. Blackwell's cat. She asked me to take her hand to point at the north star and to the twinkling stars in the sky. I was becoming misty-eyed at this point, witnessing this woman, a friend to many, coping with her new challenge of blindness. We sipped on tea for a few minutes.

Reaching into her pocket, she fingered a few of the dry nuggets of cat food. Making a "kissing" noise, she held her hand close to the ground. I could barely see the image of a cat sauntering toward her chair, nuzzling its nose in the palm of her hand. Behind the first cat, a second and a third cat emerged from the darkness. Watching her feed and pet her little friends caused me to smile a little, regarding her kindness.

Adjusting my eyes to the near dark conditions, I almost leaped out of my chair when I realized she was feeding a family of skunks! Holding my seat, gritting my teeth and hoping I wouldn't startle her little friends, I nervously took another sip of tea. Her conversation never wavered as she continued to feed and pat her domesticated skunks as they circled her ankles. As quickly as they emerged from the dark shadows of her back yard, they left in the same manner.

I never revealed to her what I saw -- it would have been wrong to alter her innocence. God bless Mrs. Avery.