Under the weather

I'm home, sick with minor miseries: runny nose, sore throat, plugged ears, lethargy and let-down. I spent the day lying about like the queen of some obscure and forgotten country, indulging myself with tea and chicken soup, reading and drifting. I kept meaning to go to the grocery store, and finally at dusk I emerged, camera bag under my arm in case I saw anything on the way. I was drawn to a spectacularly vibrant ginko next to a small church, shedding its leaves like coins onto the street below. I clicked off a couple of snapshots on the P setting before I realized that the houseless woman who mutters to herself all day and sometimes sleeps by the church door was huddled on her plastic bag of belongings under the ginko tree. I try to imagine living in her body, damp and cold by yellow leaves that yield no warmth, no cover. I cannot imagine it. We are neighbors, but I can't reach her in the dark place where her mind keeps her. I've spoken, and the attention seems to disturb her. She turns away. Once I brought her a cup of tea in a styrofoam cup. She kicked it over and watched it run into the gutter. I leave her alone now. I didn't mean to take a picture of her, but the picture is so blurry and dim, very much the same way I feel, that I think no one could recognize her from it, so I guess I'm not betraying her or exposing her by posting it. She's one of us. She belongs to us. But it gives her no comfort.