Yesterday I spent a lot of time recording sound files for a music project some friends and I are doing, inlcuding listening to a fairly obscure Miles Davis piece called Orange Lady several times.
Then I headed out for one of the few redeeming cultural events in my city, an art walk that happens on the first Friday of each month. I was on the train platform and across the way on the platform for trains going the other direction was a fascinating looking woman. Very gypsy looking, very '60s style, hippie. Thin as a rail. I wanted to know her story instantly and mildly lamented that she was going the other way.
She crossed the tracks; turned out she was headed my direction after all. I struck up a conversation with her. Lives in Australia, born and raised in Holland, had just done a Native American retreat and was traveling to Mexico for more shamanic experiences. We ended up doing the art walk together, laughing, talking, as if we were old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while. This has been happening a lot lately.
She got back on the train going north, eventually, to her boyfriend's house. It was not until I was home and reflecting on how much fun I had that I realized she was dressed almost entirely in orange. She even had an orange head scarf. Orange Lady.
Life is strange.