Saint Clare

The woman here is homeless and I pass her almost everyday and often twice a day. She pushes her load out to the west for the night and she spends the day on the Fremont Canal where she is here, often sleeping, sometimes sewing as she is in this, as well as taking care of basic grooming needs. These routines do not vary hugely during even the inclement months, although then she is hunkered down under cover.

I dedicated this to Saint Clare, the patron saint of embroiders and sewers, because I always say a prayer as I pass her. I would like to do more, but she would refuse help, I have watched that too. I think in a way the prayer is really about gratefulness, that my life is not hard like hers. How unevenly the world distributes its goods.