Showing, not telling

    She sat on the porch of the cabin for the third day in a row. Across the road flowed the river where here husband had spent each day fishing. He was there now. She got up and went into the tiny cabin. There was nothing in the cabin to amuse her. Her knitting, her books, all were at home. He had needed the room in the car for his fishing gear. As usual, all but one rod and one tackle box remained in the car. He never used the other gear. She looked around the room; it was as clean as it could be. Not suprising as she had cleaned it 8 times already this trip. The door creaked sullenly as she walked outside again. She sat down in her chair on the porch and watched what she had never learned to see.