The Man

There used to be a home around the corner from my house. Everyday, as a child strapped in my seat I passed in our car and I saw a man sitting on a bench on the pavement outside the home. He was never with anyone and he just sat there with his mouth open and his sad, bulbous, totally flipped off his lid lower lip drooping in dumb wonder. His eyes had seen Total Doom and sometimes he watched me go by. His hands were folded neatly and peacefully in his lap. He never said anything to anybody who passed but he was always there on that bench come rain nor shine. It wasn’t until years later that I thought of him again. The home had been demolished. Where had the man gone? It was only then that I connected with his beautiful simple soul and infinite sadness. I realised then, sitting in my garden area staring at a timeless green branch of a tree that itself remembers dreamer’s love as the breeze passes, that I am that man.


%d bloggers like this: