Presence

There he was…although I had not seen him for a while. Perhaps he had changed his route. Or been ill. I stepped a little closer.

Hmm.

Yes, it was him. He was wearing the full regalia of his occupation, donned in sturdy blue jeans, a thick sweatshirt and a woolen hat. His large form was hovering over his giant grocery store carriage that flowed outside the cart, blooming from every side with chock full jumbo blue and black plastic bags.

Correcting the shifting load, he prodded the bags this way and that. Success. His tight grimace eased into a pursed smirk. He leaned into the heavy carriage and pushed and prodded as the wheels began to spin and gain momentum on the black top. Then coming to an abrupt halt at a row of jammed-full trash cans. With an efficient hand he swept through the contents, easing found treasures of bottles and what-nots into his carriage. 

We had become friends of a sort. Walking alongside him the first time, I had kindly said hello. Looking over, he smiled big and  extended his hand. He spoke very fast in a thick accent I could not understand ... but I got some of what he said. His intent was genuine, and I liked him immediately.     

One day the wind was kicking up, the heavy gray clouds were boasting giant snowflakes. I adjusted my scarf snug and pulled on the gloves, my head down fending the cold. From the corner of my eye was a flash and turning saw my friend.

Oh …  He gimped as he walked, his face grimaced in pain. A huge bag had loosened and items were falling as he pressed forward.

I called over, crossing the street to greet him. He stopped. Suddenly his face brightened, his sunken cheeks full and rosy. He grabbed my hand and lightly kissed my cheek.

“So glad to see you. I am feeling much better now." Abruptly turning to his carriage, he pointed the monster load up the incline, paused and waved. Then went on his way, a spring now in his step.

Although the brisk wind nipped at my hands and nose, a warmth filled me. I watched as he cleared the hill and his cart became a blurr in the snow.

… “and that’s how I live it.”