Observations at a crossing

Sitting yesterday, having a late brunch at a regular café, people watching as they crossed the busy paedestrian crossing.

A mother crossing, pushing a stroller, holding a toddler by his hand. As they reach the middle of the road, the toddler pulls back, twisting himself, hanging of her hand, forcing himself to face backwards, so he can give a big wave to the policeman in his marked stationwagon that has pulled up at the crossing.

The smile that the policeman gives the boy in reply was simply beautiful, and I watch him continue to smile to himself as he drives off out of my sight.

A lone old woman, fragile and gaunt, unbalanced, is waiting on the kerb. Her bags of shopping are by her feet as she tries to wave down a taxi. One approaches, his light on signalling his availability, and she waves, a disjointed wave that is interrupted by her need to regain her balance. The driver, who obviously sees her, accelerates past, and there is a look of hurt, confusion and resignation on her face, before she looks back into the traffic, trying to spot the next taxi.

(The next one does stop for her, although he doesn't help her with her groceries, before she slowly, deliberately, positions herself and folds, crumples, into the back seat.)

My book rests in front of me, unread. I can't keep my eyes off all the people.