During my daily bicycle ride, I pedaled past a slightly-built woman between 50 and 60 years of age. She wore a pair of blue jeans, a lavender pullover sweater, and gray athletic shoes. She had extremely long white hair pulled into a ponytail that almost reached her knees. She walked slowly on the sidewalk along the northern side of the neighborhood park in an easterly direction. I went around my route again. By that point, the woman reached the end of the street about half a mile from where I first saw her. She now stood on the median strip dividing the north-south road which intersects with the east-west street where I first saw her. She stood on the median strip of the busy four-lane thoroughfare. She seemed to be in a daze and she had a strange expression on her face, a wan smile.
I stopped and called out to her, “Hey, are you doing ok? Do you need help?”
Still standing on the median strip, she tilted her head up and said, “Stars. I see the stars. This is like a dream, verily, merrily I sing.”
I thought she planned to walk into the oncoming traffic. Thankfully, she did not, but she shrugged her shoulders, turned around, and waited until it was come back across the street. She was no longer in danger of getting hit by oncoming traffic, so I continued on my bike ride.
I circumnavigated my bike route for a third time. The strange woman now walked in a westerly direction along the north side of the park. She seemed happy and alert. There was a bluebird on her right shoulder, but I don’t think she planned to kill it, like the question kids used to ask when playing hide-and-seek. I saw her pull a small piece of bread out of a pocket, and fed it to the bird. The bluebird nibbled the bread, pecked at it a few times, then flew away with a squawk. My bird book informed me it was a California Scrub Jay, a non-migratory species often found in residential areas and parks. The Arbor Day Foundation designates Modesto is a “tree city” and there are plenty of places where birds can roost.
She smiled at me as I slowly pedaled toward her. I was wrong about her age. I revised my previous estimate of her age to put her somewhere between 30 and 50. Also, she appeared to be Native/Indigenous North American and wore a beaded headband that went around her forehead.
I stopped and spoke to her. I said, “I’m glad you didn’t walk into traffic back there. You scared me; I was really concerned.”
She laughed, “Walk into traffic? Oh no, I was looking for another spot, but I guess I thought wrong. Sometimes it’s best to use what one is most familiar with, you know? Have a nice day.”
With that, she continued walking in a westerly direction. I continued on my bike route. I turned around and saw her make a left turn into the area where bushes line the western edge of the park. Curious, I made a U-turn and rode to the area by the bushes. She was not there. I rode on the cement path that went all around the park, but she was nowhere to be found.
On my way home I thought, “I think she was some sort of enchantress. Yeah, that must be it; she is an enchantress.”
The next evening my wife sent me to a fast-food restaurant because she wanted to have a couple of chicken tacos for dinner. She loves to cook, but on Saturdays, she stays out of the kitchen for the most part.
I saw the enchantress again a few blocks away from where I first saw her. The only reason I knew it was the same woman was because of the long white ponytail that went down to her knees. This time she wore a pair of dark-colored Bermuda shorts and a white T-shirt. Well, it looked white anyway, but it was getting dark and I couldn’t really tell what color it was, to be honest. She wasn’t wearing shoes this time.
She stood on the corner of a new housing development. The ground on this corner had no landscaping yet. She raised her arms above her head, and waved her hands back-and-forth. I was surprised to see what looked like a small tornado of dead weeds spinning in front of her. I pulled over and parked. I rolled down my window and heard her chanting, although I couldn’t really tell what she said. I noticed other cars passing by her, but none of the other drivers seemed to notice her.
She stopped chanting, but the small tornado of dried weeds kept spinning. She dropped her arms and walked over to my car.
“No one else can see me,” she said, “They couldn’t see me yesterday either. Only you and a few others can see me, and that’s the way I like it, uh-hunh, uh hunh. That’s one of your songs, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah; It was a big hit over 50 years ago. It was K C & The Sunshine Band ‘That’s the Way I Like It’ from back in 1975. I remember that because…”
“Right,” she said, “You remember because that’s when your daughter was born.”
“Wait; how did you know that?”
“Well, it’s because we watch you.”