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Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Benched

I thought I'd find some warmth in the radiance of the full morning sun when I turned west onto the path next to the river, but the wind was strong in my face, the air sharp and the light impotent though brilliant. The cold clasped me like an Iron Maiden; my hands began to lose feeling.

Runners and pedestrians were going both ways on either side of  a bench on which lay a hooded woman, swathed in shawls and blankets of different bright colors, face to the rising sun, perhaps sleeping, perhaps waiting.

I thought, 'I'm cold but in motion; how much colder you must be, lady, still as you are. Under those layers is there shivering flesh waiting for the sun's warmth to sooth?'

'How long,' I wondered,'will you have to wait?' Not too much longer, I hope.

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