Crossroads

There is a lady who lives in one corner of the major intersection on my way to work. Every day, when I get caught at the signal, I catch a glimpse of her daily routine. She is old, and alone. She has an assortment of clothes, blankets and knick-knacks piled up behind her. She has a plate and a glass, and a broom as well. When I arrive at the signal, she is usually in the process of sweeping the area around her with her broom. She pours out water from the plastic Bisleri bottle into her glass, and under the meagre shade of the sole tree, she takes a sip. She pulls out her plate. I've never stayed long enough at the intersection to see what goes on to it,or if anything does at all.