Dear Anonymous,
I placed socks and a coffee card close to her huddled body and quietly said so as not to startle her 'It's ok. Just leaving something for you.' and walk away back to my car. I see she sits up. She is beautiful ...and sleepy. She is wearing one of the handknit neck warmers as a head band over a scarf. She smiles weakly and I go back and hand her another couple neck warmers. And I leave. She turns her face looking down at the granite step she is on, and her reclining pose, up on her hands, arms straight hips on the ground, legs folded beneath her is striking. I don't photograph. It feels too vulnerable and I don't have it in me to ask her directly for permission.
A young woman. On the streets. Don't know her story. How easy it could be to be taken advantage of. In so many ways. I don't know her story. She may be strong as an ox and as defensive, unlike me. But every assault against me as a young woman is close to the surface of my own skin. I leave her be.