Stolen Purpose: Drifting Like Feathers in Life's Merciless Sea

She appears again at the traffic light, weaving barefoot between the cars. Her smile remains bright as always, even as her tangled hair droops heavy with grit, and her faded dress drapes off a slender frame. She holds out a small handful of flowers, stretching to reach each window. "Flowers, sir? Madam? Please buy some flowers?" Her voice rings melodically above the idle engines.

I don't need more blooms for my office, yet still, I find myself rolling down the window. We exchange pleasantries as I pick out a bouquet, noting the smudges on her hollow cheeks. She thanked me with twinkling eyes lighting up at the sale. I watch her scamper back to the sidewalk, lithe as a sparrow, before the light turns green.

What becomes of the sparrows? I ponder. Do they fulfill some grand purpose in their short, fragile lives? Or are they just trapped in the talons of an indifferent world, crushed before their time for reasons unknown? Much like the barefoot flower girl, selling wilted stems at the street corner day after day. But still, she smiles and sings her plaintive song, determined to spread a bit of fleeting beauty.