Woman with a Yellow Musette Bag

I like bad weather. I like standing under an awning, watching people go by. People keep their heads down when the weather's ugly.

It gives me a chance to look at them. You can't look at people in this city. You can look toward them, you can look around them; you just can't look at them.

A moment ago a young woman passed by. She was tall and must have been a dancer. Even though she was rushing to get out of the weather she moved with a dancer's confidence, sure-footed and surgical. A yellow musette bag was slung carelessly over her shoulder, the brightest yellow you can imagine on this grey day. Her head was tipped against the sleet and I couldn't see her face, but it was obvious she was beautiful. Only beautiful people move like that. Maybe it's the moving that makes them beautiful.

She passed me so closely I could smell her. She smelled like cookies. Fresh-baked cinnamon cookies. She passed so close I could have reached out and touched her cheek. Her perfect cheek. Her lightly freckled cheek.

I could have touched her. But it would have startled her, and being startled she would have lost her beauty.

Standing there under the awning, protected from the sleet, I let the woman with the yellow musette bag keep her beauty. She'd lose it soon enough.

posted by greg @ 2:04 PM