For a time, there was an old woman sitting on the porch of an old house in a wheelchair. Whenever a car passed, she would smile and wave.
The first time I saw her, I smiled and waved back. The second time, I gave a friendly toot on my horn. The third time. I realized that she did this nearly every day.
I began to purposely take that side street in to town for no other reason than to smile and wave back. She always seemed so joyous.
Winter came, and it was a long one, but spring came along as it always does. However that old woman no longer sat on her front porch. Still, though, I find myself turning down that side street. I remember the waving and her big smile.
In a way, that is immortality, and that is not the worst way to be remembered, is it?
I wonder what her story was. It must have made her so happy to be seen and acknowledged by so many passers-by. It's sweet that you still make the detour along her street.
ReplyDelete