365 Days (Part 1) | ✓

80. Ode to Strangers

80. Ode to Strangers: Go people watching and write an ode to a stranger you see on the street.

There is a man. I have seen him four times now.

I record each time in my mind. It feels important.

The first time was a glimpse. A barely-caught wisp of sight. He was in a wheelchair, and was speaking to someone in a white car. The white looked too pure next to him.

A begger?

But a glimpse is only for impressions. I wondered about him.

The second time I was waiting at a stoplight near the same area. He was crossing the street, turning the wheels on his wheelchair with furious pushes of his arms to make it in time. I saw him more here. I saw and I wished I had more to do than just look.

He had no legs. This man had no legs.

There was a beard, long and gray. Dark gray in the middle, fading away to lighter gray at the edges. He had a hat on. His face was weathered and wrinkled. There was a blanket over his lap, and he wore a plaid button-up shirt.

Then we drove past, but my thoughts stayed. Who was he? Did he need help?

The third time he was again moving. Same clothes. Different day. I want to help him.

"Is that him?"Mom asked, for I had told her of this man that disturbed my thoughts.

"Yes."

The last time, I saw him, as of yet, was again just a flash. But this time I was looking for him. He sat in the same place as the first time, but his time there was a woman on the ground.

She was a plain woman. Nothing remarkable but that she was on the ground. Jeans and a t-shirt. Tennis shoes. Her hair was brown.

Nothing remarkable, but that she was listening to the man. She did not talk. She listened while he spoke, and he did so with much emotion. His brown hands gestured to emphasize his words. I thought it was beautiful, what I saw.

A car was parked by them. I guessed hers.

We drove past.

How lovely sometimes are the strangest things.