This afternoon, driving home from Noe fretting and sad, I stop at the 25th street light on Valencia in the Mission. (The light was red. I wasn't that fretful.)
An elderly Missionite, short, latino, tufty white hair, sunwrinkled and raisin'd full of laugh lines crosses the street in front of my car. I'm used to the small smile as people glance at the car and notice the checks on the roof, but I don't expect the full-face glow and grin that appears as he crosses in front of my car, and sees the plates. I can see where all the smile lines around his eyes and cheeks and chin come from. He SMILED, with everything he had, turned and gave me a thumbs up, and continued slowly across the street.
I know I'm still here because of the mirrored grin that filled my face and heart. It's the small things, even in the middle of the big hard ones. 'Tis.Posted by shock at December 30, 2005 01:20 PM