small garden wall

I saw a woman sitting in the train going the other way tonight and thought of you, for some reason. She didn't really look like you--even though I don't really know what you look like now--but she sat like you. She sat with the same kind of stillness I somehow feel you sit with. She was alone at the end of the blue velvet JR bench. Her shirt was a mottled brown. Her head was calmly still atop her neck. I for some reason felt like she was sitting against a small wall in a small shaded garden. I for some reason imagined that she had been sitting there long enough that there were no longer any foot prints around her. They had all been brushed away by wind or whatever removes footprints. Small drops of light fell through the trees, just enough to make her visible against the wall, but not bright enough to endanger the weight of the grey.