Saturday, September 17, 2016

The girl with snow white hair

I see her at the park everyday.She sits on the bench by the swings and is usually alone. She always has a smile and always has a word for any child whose ball rolls near her feet. She smiles at the parents of the tots with bigger smiles at the grandparents who carry infants around. She smiles.
She has snow white hair. I have never seen her walk. Usually she is seated in the bench by the time I come and is still seated there when I leave. She does not have a phone in her hand. She probably lives in one of the many condos nearby.
I am curious. I let my twins play by themselves. I keep an eye on them and go over to her bench. I start a conversation with her. Her face becomes a map when she smiles, so many wrinkles. So much beauty in her years. She tells me how she moved from Poland when she was a little girl. How she fell in love with an Irish immigrant. How her children moved away from home and found their own lives. She tells me that she would have celebrated her 60th wedding anniversary with her husband if he had not passed away a couple of years ago. Her life has been so fascinating; her views are not disillusioned by passage of time. She still marvels at technology and the joy of life.
Time flies on. My wife takes the twins home and I stay back talking, enjoying her company. It is now dark and the park has very few people. The overhead light emits an orange glow. My stomach grumbles and she hears it. She smiles and asks me to go home. I leave reluctantly.
As I walk, I look back. She takes small steps to the swing. Very gingerly, she settles into the seat. In the dark of the evening, she swings slowly. Like a leaf fluttering in gentle wind. She swings slowly, the girl with snow white hair.

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