Once upon a time, in 2016, I was exploring the Tama River Trail via bicycle.
The Tama River Trail is a 30 mile stretch of asphalt path. It connects a good chunk of “Outer-rim” Tokyo with the rest of Japan. It also has numerous paths to the river and neighborhood parks connected throughout.
Ostensibly, it’s a major pedestrian highway.
It was phenomenal bike riding weather that day. The sky was cloudless and the weather was warm enough to make you sweat but not hot to the point of regret. It was the kind of day that made you feel like you could ride forever.
The photo below was taken on the way back home.
In the photo, on the left and in between the two pedestrian signs, is a black oval.
That is a little old woman. I saw her on the way out. Even though my observation of her was from a moving vehicle, I could tell that she was enjoying the weather as much as I was in spite of the lonely shadows that she sat in. Before I realized it, I smiled at her. And she smiled back. As I pedaled away, I thought that that was the end of it.
When I had set out on this trek, the only thing that I had known was that there was a path down by the river that I could ride my bike on. I had learned about 60 minutes prior to taking the photo, that the trail was indeed 30 miles long. I responded to that new knowledge by promptly giving that shit the finger and heading home.
After I took the photo, I saw that the old woman was still there. Happy with the photo, I headed home. As I rolled by her, I turned towards her, smiled again, and waved.
She returned the salutation, happy (in my mind) that someone saw her and acknowledge her.