New York City Transit Strike

As I reached the summit of the Williamsburg Bridge today, I saw an elderly lady with a handful of shopping bags.

I was out of breath from climbing the incline of the bridge. It were as if I had just climbed Jack’s Mountain, back home in the Central Pennsylvania Appalachian Highlands.

The old lady looked like I felt. Tired and worn out and ready to fall to the ground at any given moment.

That bridge is at least a mile long.

That woman could have used a hand– someone to carry her bags at least to the foot of the bridge.

But she was headed in the other direction and I was already mid-point on the mile long bridge.

I watched handfuls of young fit people pass her by, but I was too selfish to turn around and back track for at least a half-mile to help a woman who society had forgotten.

How un-Christmas like of me.