My town dozes. She, broom in hand, begins her day. I don’t know her name, I don’t ask her either. As I pass by her I say good morning and receive the same words in reply.
The sweeper is wide awake. She cleans the centrally located Contramaestre park, where I live, very early in the morning. She starts at 4:00 in the morning, without stopping and with her eyes fixed on her task. This woman, whose name I don’t know, is small in stature, wearing jeans and a denim shirt, with a scarf and boots that protect her hair and feet.
She sweeps with care the different spaces of the local park, determined to collect the dry leaves that come off the old trees and other debris, so that the dawn surprises with the neatness of the central place.
Without wasting a minute, the broom goes from one side to the other, accumulating the garbage and picking it up with a shovel to throw it in the sack tied to the cart. On and on it goes. Serious as the work she does is this street sweeper who appreciates cleanliness, devoting herself to her task and always anticipating the sunny or cloudy morning.
She, very humble, is proud of what she does, she knows she is the protagonist of her work, by doing her job well, hard but possible. Today, February 15, this sweeper, like the rest of the workers in the solid garbage management, deserves the greatest consideration, the greatest applause, earned by dint of broom and waste collection in my hometown.
