What tomorrow holds

A woman walks across Grand Central Station, New York City, 2019. Her coat tied with a simple bow of the belt, perhaps lunch in the plastic bag, hair as red as copper, a bag bearing printed flower motifs. There is something about women in New York carrying bags so large under their arm everywhere they go. To an ex-partner I used to tease she was carrying a trunk and not such a bag as pictured here. Her eye-glasses, her chain, her gait half through imbalance. Her expression is a lifetime in the making. The longish figures above her as if from a surrealist memory in all of us. The mixed, narrow patch of colors  awaiting her steps still unknown. The color blocks compress around her and she is still walking ahead. There is so much of each of us in her, if you have reached a certain age, perhaps, a certain litany of experiences, of falls and awakenings, and have managed to push through, every day, yet still you do not know what tomorrow holds.