The Lady in the White Wimple, by Penny Hyde

I was playing chicken on a turning in a busy arterial road in a leafy suburb of London .
Playing ‘chicken’ is not easy.
It takes guts and despair.
It was not fair on motorists but so far, no accidents, to me or machine.

I approached the road, and only on the days this naturally occurred, no pre meditation.
It was not a game.
I’d breathe.
Close my eyes.
Close my ears.
And walk.
Now what ?