Intersecting Roads

Picture credited to Aphotic Aura

No one knew what possesed her to do it,
or ever had the care or guts
to ask why. We all knew her,
"That woman, you know,
the one always walking down the street?"
But we didn't really know her.
She was part of everyone by now,
because everyone had passed her,
somewhere, in the five or
eight odd mile radius she called home.
She was a God, or a cause, or
a constant in an otherwise turbulant day.
To some she was merely an annoyance,
a habitual glance in the rear-view.
But today it was raining and
she never cared for unbrellas.
The man in a yellow car stopped
at the intersection was following her
with his eyes.  He turned in her direction
and slowed as if to stop, but,
how was it his right to roll down the window
to ask if maybe she needed a ride?
What would he say to her
as she was seated next to him,
long brown hair freshly lacquered with rain?
I'm not sure if anyone stopped that day.
Some time after he was passing her again,
and he could've swore he saw her raise an arm
as his eyes shifted back down to the road.