Frozen Tears.

A couple of nights ago I was waiting at the marshurtka stop outside my building. It was dark, cold and the wind was blowing. All I could think in my mind was that I wished the marshurtka to come quickly – I could not concentrate on anything other than the fact that I was cold (it was about 18 degrees).

Then I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. And I saw her.

An old woman had her crates lined up in front of the bench at the bus stop. She had her wares lined up in perfect rows, showcasing them in a deliberate and beautiful manner. She had her pickles and her chopped cabbage. She had honey, herbs and several root vegetables all begging to be purchased. I only noticed her because of the movement she was making, but when I really saw her my heart was heavy.

Her body was hunched over from years of hard labour and daily work in her garden. Her face was weathered and wrinkled with the years of life for everyone to see. She was bundled as best she could be in a long green coat that hung over her sweater and skirt. Her wool socks draped around her swollen ankles, having lost their elasticity decades ago and her feet were shoved into slippers that had obviously carried her many miles. With one hand resting on the seat and using her small cane in the other to steady herself she would shuffle four steps backward and then four steps forward. At the completion of the forward movement she would take a breath and start again. This routine happened so slowly and with great effort, over and over again. I knew she was trying as best she could to keep warm.

As I was getting on the bus she seated herself on the bench - ready to spend more of the evening selling her things. I wish I could have done something to warm her or to help her or give her comfort. But I had nothing. As the bus pulled away, I offered a prayer for her and wiped a tear away as it warmed my own frozen cheek.