She looked a little tired, you know, like the mothers of small children often look, and she smelled of cigarette smoke (people are picking up smoking again these days, times are rough, it's good to be sucking on a cigarette sometimes, at least it doesn't make you fat...), but the baby in the stroller looked just like Jesus in all those Renaissance paintings (where Jesus looks like a baby, and not a small God, and where's he's alive).
That beautiful, blissful smile that we would give anything and everything to recapture, the smile of someone who has seen eternity the other night, the smile in Leonardo's mystical painting of John the Baptist where a young, satyric John leaning on his staff, points towards heaven.
And those oh so closed eyes, turned inward on... WHAT ?
Will we ever know ?
When I see the bus lady Madonnas with their stroller chair Jesuses, I smile and watch them, sometimes nodding gravely. They are timeless vignettes. The world is passing by, Obamas are getting elected, people are exploding in bombs, hurricanes are destroying everything in their paths, but the bus lady Madonnas, they just keep watch over their smiling Jesuses, eyes closed, one foot in eternity.