She looks typical,
a woman of 50 or 60 –
wearing a gray, wool felt hat
against the December rain,
brown boots and jeans,
a jacket, nondescript.

She pushes herself to walk up
the slight incline along Main Street
and talks out loud
as if to a companion,
smiles a response,
goes on to reply.

That won’t be me one day.
Oh no. Trust me.

That’s me now.