Some innate compulsion forced me to stand at my flat window every morning to watch as a girl walked down the street. Nothing made me miss the moment, not even the phone going crazy. I was often late for work. I couldn’t have cared less. I had to watch as she walked down a decline to disappear around the corner. A few times, I watched at the end of her day's work. She trudged uphill, whereas in the morning, she floated down the footpath to meet the day. It’s a sight I thought about at work as well as alone in my flat. I didn’t even know the girl's name or where she worked. She answered all those age-old questions of what makes a woman beautiful. Ah! Now she's a woman. You see, I’m in a quandary of whether she’s a girl or a woman; maybe on the cusp is more accurate. It’s an indefinable point when girls become women. Not biologically or any mundane definition. This girl had zest and attitude as she confronted life head on.