It was the wave that did it. A simple, familiar wave from a man I’ve watched for years, an “older man” (older than me!), who mows his lawn in a circle around a central clump of bushes.

I’ve noticed this man and his wife for years, shoveling snow, planting annuals, vacuuming up leaves (this weekend’s project). He is, for lack of a better term, a regular. One of the folks I see on my walks through Folkstone, one of the ones who (because I’ve never gotten to know him) is known more by the color of his shutters (green) and the method of his leaf removal (tractor) than anything else.

But it was the way he waved to me — familiar, off-handed — that made me realize that, just as I see him as a regular, so he sees me.

I’m the woman in the worn white running jacket, a little worse for the wear, slowing down as the years pass — still at it, though. I’m “the woman who walks” (sometimes runs). A fixture of sorts.

In other words, I’m a regular, too.