Blue Sky Postscript

Bright FlowerEarly this morning, drinking tea on the balcony, I saw something beautiful.

Here in Paris the streets are cleaned every morning.  A slow moving municipal vehicle sends a high pressure jet of water onto the pavements, like a mini water cannon, hosing away the dirt of the previous day in preparation for another day’s manic city life.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of the African women I wrote about yesterday.  She was walking backwards, away from her patch on the intersection, slowly retreating from the water, waiting for the guy manning the vehicle to do his job and pass on to the next street.

Shyly, gently, with the smallest gesture, she waved to him, I guess returning his gesture of early morning greeting – one street worker to another.

Suddenly, she wasn’t a prostitute.  She was a young girl, guardedly polite, well-mannered, brought up to show respect to others.  She could have been a school-girl waving to the bus driver.  It made my heart flip – for us all.

Om Tare Tuttare Ture Soha

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