Frozen in time
I remember a slim young woman at a subway (U-bahn) station in Berlin, Germany. She was one of several dozen strangers who were standing along the tracks, waiting for the train. When it rolled into the station, she ran lightly through the doors of one of the cars. How fresh and free she looked.
Little Keely was clutching one of my hands, and I had a folded umbrella stroller in my other hand. Baby Isaac was in a carrier on my chest, and my bag of necessaries was over my shoulder. Laden as I was, I admired the nimble, easy way the young woman moved and the swirl of her skirt as she turned. "I used to be like that," I thought. "I'll be like that again," (I was indulging in a moment of fantasy.)
By now, the girl in my mind is about the age I was when I saw her. I'm sure time has changed her, but in my mind's eye, she's still young, slender, and very quick and graceful. I've thought of her many times.