I use to see her when I walked down Canal Street…

during my return trip to the train at night.

I would get a glimpse of her familiar outline in the distance – often resting against a sign pole or a parking meter.

Upon getting closer I would see that her breathing was labored – like it took everything out of her just to make it to the spot that she was resting at.

She was a short woman with thinning hair, thick glasses, she usually wore a scarf of some sort wrapped around her head, and her one leg would drag behind her slightly; and there was a limp – a very pronounced limp - all the while a purse dangled off her left hand producing a rhythmic tick-tock.

Inevitably I would pass her up – no matter how far ahead she was when I first spotted her.

For years I saw her and I admired her fortitude. Always thinking I could never do that – carry on under way less than favorable conditions.

But I was wrong.....

my song