When I turned from one side of the Decherd street toward the other, a woman hesitated to walk in front of me and my camera. I lowered it.
She paused and said, "Nice day for a walk, isn't it?"
"It is! It's lovely. I like to walk too."
"Good for the spirit and the body!"
I nodded. "I take a walk every day."
She smiled. "Young people. They sit around and sit around. If they don't get up and move, how will they get up when they're old?"
I laughed. "So true!"
"Nice view," she said, looking across the street where I had focused. "Enjoy yourself!"
"Enjoy the day!"
She continued up the street.
I took the picture, but now when I look at it, I see her too -- bony, but healthily; her wrinkles pronounced, deep, like the lines an artist might make with a thin Sharpie; lively eyes; dyed black hair, a bit below the shoulder, parted just off center where a small widow's peak of white-white hair lifted.
A beautiful woman, surprisingly genial, genteel even, like the empty storefronts -- old but glowing.