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

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

I agree. And I was wrong too!

woohooooo

CRUSTY MOM-E said...

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?
:)

Always,
Crusty~

Susan's Snippets 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's Snippets 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!

TGIFFFFFFF!!!

Enjoy.

oh, boy!