IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD, 33/365

I've moved but I go back to visit and it's still home, still my neighborhood.
When I lived in the neighborhood, over a year ago, she lived on the streets. The shelters weren't for her; "not safe" she would say when someone asked. When the weather turned bitter, she would slip into the church late in the evening and sleep in the basement or in a pew. There were people who didn't seem to know she was there, looking right through her as she sat on the bench in the corner. There were others who objected outloud to her presence. She was dirty; there were places for "people like her" to go.
On a recent visit to my old neighborhood, I had my camera out for a shot of the skating rink as we drove past. When I looked up, there she was, trudging down the street with her wagon in tow. I snapped the picture through the car window knowing it would be a mess. I thought maybe I could digitally clean it up. When I looked at it later, though, it struck me that this is the lens, the window, that many people see her through. Dirty, an unpleasant mess. Or as a kind of blur off on the side of their lives.

"In My Neighborhood," Theme #157. Here's hoping we can all clean our windows and see things through a more compassionate lens.