We All Are the Walking Wounded

That scruffy, angry lady on the sidewalk.

She kicked the scruffy stray dog that followed her with a wagging tail.

I was so mad. Why did she kick him? What if I ran her over now, just because I was annoyed by her too? Fair game?

But then I looked at her face.

Yes, I forgot, everybody is wounded. We all live in some kind of pain.

She, too, must be.

I sent them both metta.