Impressionism

Outside of Costco, my cart weighted down by the modernity, mundanity of life, a frozen pizza box slid off the bottom onto the sidewalk. The lady behind me whisked herself out of the way, and kindly bent down to retrieve it for me as I wrestled with my elephant on wheels.

“Thank you very much”, I said, sighing, shoving the hair off of my face with my mittened hands.
“Don’t want to lose this”, she said, handing me the pizza box, “it’s just too delicious!”
“Whoops -” she pointed to my cart, now rolling itself nigh into traffic.
“Looks like I’m losing everything else too!”, I joked.

She took a second look at me, and said, much too kindly, “Be careful. You don’t want to lose your life.”
“Holding on with both hands!” I laughed, showing her my mittens tightly wrapped about the cart’s handle.

I knew what she really meant. I knew that she knew – she knew. My soul’s on my sleeve these days, and somehow, she just knew.

I watched her walk away, confident, sleek, silvered. Jaunty. Someone who’s been there – and remembers the landscape.

May this all someday be only a memory – the sharp edges smudged, the colours muted.

And me, a seasoned traveller, too.

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1 comment so far

  1. Kathleen on

    Hanging on, especially with mittened hands, is hard.
    I wish I could give you a piece of peace!


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