She appeared at the covered bus stop suddenly. One minute she was not there, then she was.
One does not make eye contact in this part of town, particularly at a bus stop. The patrons milled around, some with back packs, some in sleeping clothes. There was no elegant coiffure among those waiting.
Except for her. She was approximately half of the century mark or more. Hard to tell with her soft features and her unlined face. Hard to tell because eye contact was not allowed.
It was another day again on my way at that bus stop.
This time I noticed her elegant clothes. Soft elegance. No one was dressed like her, yet it wasn’t gaudy. Life had dealt me a twister, so I was ruffled; not covered like her.
On the regular bus routes I encountered her often and now had time to carefully study her. First, she was beautiful without a trace of makeup on that unlined beautiful skin. She always wore a tasteful hat. Sometimes appropriate gloves.
Now I studied that demeanor of dignified grace. She looked out of place at this bus stop across the sidewalk from the welded muffler repair shop. Those clothes were always perfectly coordinated in the proper place always with grace.
She never spoke to anyone, but neither did others. Once in awhile I would make a lame attempt at eye contact to simply exchange a smile, but she was too smooth for that.
Slim so everything fit as though on a runway model.
That twister threw me down the street, so I never saw her again. Today, I took note of Maya Angelou.