Reflection

The lines on her face were deep set from years of sun, wind and neglect. The faded dirty blanket she was wrapped in puddled on the ground covering her feet. Her oily matted hair stuck out from her head in clumps of gray and black. It was like she was in a trance staring through the window of the gallery.

The three human like sculptures standing at attention mixed with the reflection of the busy street behind her, perhaps made her forget about the unlit cigarette hanging from her dry lips. One sculpture grey, one white and one striped with black and white.

They commanded a story to tell; a feeling or a trigger of memory. The three stared back at her as if waiting for the same thing.

As I walked by this women, I couldn’t help stopping and looking back, I myself was waiting. I felt both anxious and envious as I stood there. Anxious because I needed to get to work, and envious because this women was not a slave to time. A third emotion crept in, I was inspired. Inspired to witness someone who also stopped to take notice of all that is in front of us on a normal day.

Perhaps this gallery of beautiful things reminded her of the person she once was, giving her permission to reflect on her life, still living, still breathing but in a different situation, as we all are people no matter what color; grey, white or a mix of both.

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