Thursday, March 13, 2008

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


the dilf said...

I agree. And I was wrong too!



You should submit this piece to Six Sentences...sad, chilly and inspiring!

happy Friday!
Poor Poor Peter Spitzer, WAIT! That's not his first name, is it?


Susan said...

To The Dilf - Yahoo back to you! You should share your story someday - possibly on a blog of your own?

don't groan

Susan said...

Crusty - thanks for the props! I wasn't familiar with Six Sentences until you wrote. I submitted it and we will see what happens!



oh, boy!