It's cold, but not too cold -- not for someone who's had a hot shower and is clothed in top-of-the-line gear. But it seems bitter cold for a night under the bridge on the bike path. But her cart is there, the one sheathed in black plastic, and she is sitting not far away in the morning sun. Her parka is pink -- almost the pink of mine. But hers has a hood that's pulled tightly around her face. She's never looked at me nor have I ever heard her make a sound. I don't really even know what she looks like. About the only thing I know is that she has a neatly organized cart and it's almost always parked under the last bridge before the bike path splits taking bikes to the west side of the river, leaving the pedestrians on the east. I ride by everyday, well, almost every day, on my way to school. I have missed only a few days, a handful when it was raining or snowing or just too cold and icy to ride. And she's there almost every day -- only a handful of days has she been somewhere else. A couple of those days it was in the low 20s and I assumed she had gone to the shelter. Then I fantasized that she had gone on vacation or to visit family. These thoughts of family and vacation magnify the gap between us. And yet there's some connection it seems. Or is there? Perhaps in my mind, but not in hers. Does she notice my brilliant yellow jacket the way I notice her pink one? I don't know, but I don't think so. She makes me ponder how difficult it would be to live her life, to consider what a homeless person does all day, to wonder about basic bodily functions on the street. But I don't want to ask about her life, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to satisfy my curiosity.
It's the Christmas season -- that time of year when giving is on so many minds. And I'd like to give her something. But I probably won't because I don't know how. I'm too locked in a life that is so dfferent from hers, that I can't get out of it far enough to be of any help.

Friday

It's Friday and it's still cold - in the 20s again. But the sun is showing her bright face in the big blue Colorado sky. My bike has a new rear tire and a new rider. Everyday I'm a little bit different. I hope for being more perceptive too, but that's a bigger challenge. It's a rough couple of weeks at school -- copied papers, student grievances -- and yet some things turn out better than expected. The pain of confronting a student who copied a paper turned into an acknowledgement of and even a thank-you for a lesson learned. Still, I am discouraged. The karma feels off. The fit isn't. It's not new, not out of the blue, not once in a lifetime. But this morning this misfit seems worse.
Nevertheless small things can have big payoffs -- shadows for example. When we think shadows the mind can go in two directions. The "out of the shadows" direction is scary and dark. But shadows have another aura too. In my funk this morning I noticed my shadow out ahead of me as I headed west. And there dancing in the sun were the straps of my back pack. Carefree and energetic. Light and gleeful, they hopped and bobbed in the morning light. It seemed almost two-dimensional, black and white. My movement through space creating wind added the third dimension. I thought about how that's a sort of opposite of how we define"wind" as air moving through space past us. And the joy of the dance made me smile.

Thursday

It was a cold morning -in the high 20s with a bit of drizzle. So I got on my bike with a bit of trepidation and three layers from head to toe. The heat of the earth had kept the ground from freezing despite stubborn ice on windshields. The cold air against the small slice of exposed nose and cheeks felt clean. My legs worked and my core heated up. I wasn't the only biker out there, but no one was in shorts. And the homeless woman I wonder about was still there, under the same bridge sitting stoically as always, but bundled up more tightly with more layers making her lumpy figure just a bit larger. I was headed to a warm office with warm interaction. She sat. Alone. Quiet. Three weeks ago during a cold spell she was gone. I wondered if she had moved to a shelter for the winter. But she hasn't. It worries me. But I have no idea what her reality is like or what I could do to make it more of what she might want. So, I go on and just wonder.

Wednesday

I ride my bike to work. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’m thinking about saving the planet. But I know that I’m really doing it for selfish reasons, for my body and soul. To feel the wind, to breathe the air, to think the thoughts that traffic won’t permit. Brain and muscles complement a life, sweat and meandering wonders make a person whole. Being on a bike gets it done.