Engaged in the life of another, a woman without a home who lived in the backyard... When I think back some years ago to 2000, I recall the woman who had no home and lived in the backyard of the house where I stayed. Technically, she was homeless. Yet she had a job, owned a car, and went to a university (she told me she could shower there between classes). I don't want to ruin the poem, which is spiritual in the sense that Rowan Williams writes about creation and other human beings' lives: