Picture this: over the weekend… on the train… sunny but chilly…

So I was reading a pretty poem… “Miracles”… Until this old lady distracted me by admiring my bag… “This is a nice bag”… She received a big smile… “What a nice day… sunny and not too cold”… She received another big smile… “I remember a hundred years ago when I was a kid, Toronto was just too cold this time of the year… I remember our doors were all covered by snow, making it impossible to open them… we had to, though… me and my brothers had no choice but to struggle and brush the snow off the door to make it to school… It’s getting warmer now… It’s not even comparable… Ahhh… good old days… today is my grandson’s birthday and I’m taking him to dinner… Oh dear, this is my stop… Nice talking to you, young lady”…

And right around this time I’m staring into her blue eyes while she was disappearing from sight… Eyes as blue as the Tuscan sky and as lovely as a blue marble with no sign of exaggeration… I’m closing the book and thinking of the one way conversation I just heard… Admiring the peacefulness of her eyes and the stories of her one hundred and something years’ old mind which I’ll pay anything to listen to…

S