Out in the ‘hood

My mystery walking man re-appeared yesterday.

I had not seen him in nearly a year.  I reckoned that he had retired, fallen ill, or passed away.  He didn’t look the type to re-locate but that also occurred to me.

I stopped at the house  between work and Rotary to change into more comfortable shoes.  As I locked the door on my way out, I saw him.  Striding doggedly down Holmes Street, long black umbrella in one hand, old battered attache in the other, he kept his head down and forged ahead, not looking either way.  I hurried to my car and backed out of the driveway in time to see him headed towards the green light at 63rd.  I pulled my phone out and touched the camera button, but the light turned red and I found  myself watching his figure climb the slight hill towards Meyer.

I got a snapshot just before he turned the corner.

I’ve watched this man walk to and from points north of my house for twenty-three years, not counting the last year when I thought he had gone.  I guess our schedules don’t coincide any longer.  I think of him as sad, lonely, forlorn.  Perhaps I’ve romanticized him.

As I continued south towards 75th Street, I wondered whether he lives alone.  Who waits for him?  Why has he never bought himself a new coat or a nicer briefcase?  Where does he work?

Does he know about me?  He’s surely seen me.  I’ve sat on my porch in the cool of spring mornings, blogging.  He passes and I lift my eyes to watch him.  For months on end, I saw him every day; how could he not  have noticed me observing his passage through my neighborhood?

The irises have begun to show themselves in the side yard.  My annual urge to plunge my hands in rich wet soil calls me.  Perhaps one day, rake in hand, I’ll see the walking man.  Perhaps I’ll speak to him.  Perhaps he’ll answer

.It’s the tenth day of the twenty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.

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