It is strange how I remember just snatches from my day: an elderly woman alighting from the bus, her eyes a faded blue, which brought to mind what I'd read this morning - how it is possible to dislodge cataracts with a blow on the head, or a poke near the iris with a needle, and how the Romans did this all the time, and which also explains something that puzzled me for some time - because the Inuit did this too, but I wasn't sure how, until now. She was tiny, this old woman. She picked her way along like a sparrow, smiling and thanking the people around her, and I thought how I hoped I would be like her: happy and mobile, pretty, even though my face is as crumpled as padding paper, and exuding a contentment that made people want to nod and smile back.
And then there is this: the middle-aged man with Down's syndrome, small and slight, a fringe of hair around his head, receding from both top and bottom, black and grey, anxiously keeping watch for his stop, getting up and then sitting down again, then standing for so long that a couple of youths have to edge past him in their black padded jackets, and I looked at his face, slyly...it seemed new, somehow, despite its age, as if some inner innocence kept it smooth.New Word:torpid
= mentally or physically inactive, lethargic (of an animal = dormant).
No style tip tonight. I have left it too late and I am tired.