Light bright

7 p.m.

Like clockwork.

Down the side street to the main thoroughfare.

She leans to the left a bit, as if the weight of her world rests on that side. Tiny, with short blond hair, wearing well-worn sneakers with bike shorts, a t-shirt and a reflective vest. Not grimacing, but not smiling either. She's working, walking, and she's deep in thought.

During the summer, she walked carrying a hand-held fan. Tonight, she wore her usual outfit, but added mittens. Kind of silly, I thought, since you're wearing shorts. But I'll look forward to seeing how the outfit changes as the autumn chill turns to winter's cold.

I've watched her wandering my neighborhood for years now. Seasons, people, circumstances change, but still she remains. Up and down the same streets, in the same order, every single day. On time. I can set my watch by her presence.

Continuity, but not static. Like Monet's haystacks, her shadow changes with the four-seasons' varying light. In the dark now as the earth spins to let colors burst then fall away, her vest is a light in the dark. In the summer, it was just yellow. Now, she glows... and blinks.

I smile.

One of these days, I'm going to walk right up next to her, along with her.

Hello.

Maybe that will make her face light up, too.