Gaia: Adventures of a Post-Modern Lunatic

I could see my breath but I couldn’t feel my toes. As I imagined gangrene spreading up my legs, I took in the scene. The city block was crowded and more people were showing up. Pairs of eyes under colorful homemade hats looked around for someone familiar. Around us, the trees were still – bare limbs against a grey sky.
I wandered toward an open shelter. Inside, a young brown woman played guitar and sang about how we are all really one.
“ Buenos dias,” I said to the man passing out hot chocolate.
“Buenos dias!” He gave me the cup with a grin.
The march for worker’s rights would begin soon. My partner in peace-keeping was Amy. She had a stud in her lip and told me how she skateboarded with her teenage daughter. Our job was to maintain order if there was any trouble. Trouble didn’t seem likely, so the orange vest and nominal authority felt silly.
The crowd was diverse: Spanish-speaking families with children bundled up; old white men whose beards had probably seen hundreds of marches; and young people who were led to this event by fate, or like me, by their roommates.
I finished the hot chocolate and tossed the cup in the recycle bin as we started down the street. Amy and I chatted and gave out flyers. The fog was beginning to clear and I expected the day to be uneventful.
Crossing the Burnside Bridge, Amy pointed out the skatepark.
Suddenly - manic screams from up ahead - a homeless woman had singled out a young marcher, gotten inches from his face and cursed him to hell. I was accustomed to drug-crazy street-worn people and remembered that I was a peace-keeper. I side-stepped myself in front of the angry woman and met her wild gaze. Her screams calmed to murmurs and the smell of old beer filled our two-person space on the bridge.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” I told her. In one movement her layered arms opened and in another they wrapped around my shoulders. She held me tightly and I breathed in her scents while our energies mingled.
After a long moment, she let go. No longer aggressive, her eyes were soft, almost matronly. I blessed her and continued walking. When I glanced back, she blew me a kiss.
Amy punched me lightly, “Girl, you really are a peace-keeper.” I smiled at her, trying not to show how emotional I was.
The sun broke through the clouds. I forgot how cold my toes had been as the rally concluded with speeches and songs. Around us, the trees reached high, hand-in-hand, toward the sun.