The sun illuminated half of her face as it rose just above the building. The market wouldn't be opening for another 5 minutes. Others surrounded her, milling about impatiently. But instead of looking down at their tapping feet, or the black blots on the street that used to be gum, counting the seconds, she turned her face towards the warmth. She planted her tiny feet wide, displaying her deep pink sneakers that had at least five layers of cushioning, her stout but sturdy legs wrapped in black yoga pants, and a woolen, pink, half-zip sweater swallowed her small frame. She closed her eyes while raising her hands, palms facing out, almost in prayer. Her watch gleamed in the sun, almost asking for attention after being neglected for even a few seconds. From the rise and fall of her shoulders, she had taken a deep breath. I could feel myself releasing a little pocket of air I didn’t know I had been holding. The store doors wooshed open, and all the others snapped to attention, racing to get the carts that didn’t squeak or get out of the chill of the early morning. But she remained rooted there, soaking in the sun. I could imagine her feet growing roots into the ground, her hands spreading into leaves that forever played with the wind, her peaceful face becoming etchings in a wise willow tree that all the neighborhood kids would come to play on and love. But for now, her hands remained extended, her feet planted firmly. A small smile blossomed with a secret only she would ever know.