in the name of observation

Something has to be said for routines...sure they're monotonous and mundane, and i really don't want to live life through routine, but good can come of it too.

Walking the same route everyday,
passing the same people on the way,
I get to notice the little things.
I get to recognize familiar faces
whose names I don't know.
The person who sells train tickets every morning
The girl who always waits just a few steps ahead of me
(whose clothing I always admire)

There's the man who sits on the steps on the only synagogue that I pass
There's the woman with the floral scarf on her head who sits at the corner just after that
One block up, there's the woman who looks like her
(are they related? are they sisters?)

I wonder what she thinks about during the day
Standing still while the world rushes by

She sees a lot of people and a lot of things happen
And she doesn't really say anything to people passing by
What's running through her head as day after day the same people walk by,
some pausing to drop money
others swiftly averting their eyes

Does she know things that we don't?
She spends her day
Sitting and Observing
Hoping to be noticed
And in her silence, what does she hear?

What do they hear in these sounds that
we make in our haste to ignore the "simple"
and envelop ourselves in our "important" work?