In the grey morning of not-yet light and a low sky of clouds that hover seamlessly, motionless even in the chilly wind, in that unwoken dawn I feel as sleepy and apart as if I were still in bed. I wonder, in that part of my mind that sits off to the side and takes notes, makes comments, if I am awake or having one of those rare and wonderful dreams of vivid detail. But I honestly have never felt cold, nor heat, in my dreams, so I know that I am standing at the bus stop on my way to work and she is a real person.

In my dreams, here is what would happen:

She would turn around and look at me. She would not smile at me; she is too sad to smile anymore. Instead she would take the half-dozen or so steps to me and stand in front of me. Taking the ear buds from her own ears, she gently removes mine; the microscopic sound of our iPods buzzing together as they dangle on the cords she holds in her hand. Then, gently and carefully, she places her ear buds into my ears and mine into hers. And we stand there, close but not touching, each listening to the other's music. I don't recognize her music; it's something current, perhaps, pop and hiphop and intense. I like it; i want to ask her who the woman is that is singing. Perhaps it's a name I've read and just not heard the music. From my iPod, she is listening to Nanci Griffith, early Nanci from the 80s. I wonder if she knows Nanci and what she thinks of my music on this cold, dim autumn morning. She still is not smiling; I love Nanci's music, but I know there are times, and songs, that amplify my own sadness. This lovely woman is not smiling, standing so close to me, and we are listening to each other's music, and then she leans across to me and kisses me. Kisses me hard enough to tell me she means something important by it, but what that is, I don't know. And before I can ask her, she takes the earpiece from her own ears, hands then and her iPod to me, turns, and walks quickly away. I want to follow, but the bus has arrived and I have to go to work. I do go to work.

And I do go to work and wonder about the woman I did see at the bus stop, listening to the music on her iPod and shivering in the cold just as I was doing. One thing seemed to be true and not of my imagination: that she was sad. That she needed something, but we all need something. What I am longing for is that one day she, whoever she is, will need me.