Tuesday, February 23, 2016

He's Like That

We stood in the cemetery, an icy wind betrayed the blue sky, no heat reached us from the yellow globe over head. On a hill overlooking distant hills finally green from days of rain, we waited shivering as the Marines unfolded the Flag; Stars and Stripes threatened to take to the sky like a kite. Behind us the mournful notes of Taps reached our ears, and at that moment a red tailed hawk flew up from the valley, soaring on wind currents, chasing the harbinger of death, reminding us that the spirit lives on.

Later that day, at the store we walked past a young woman, her child in a grocery cart in front of their car; I smiled at her and went to get my own cart, and turning to say something to John I noticed he had stopped to talk to her. Maybe he knows her: he's friendly like that. In a few minutes he met me in the store, piling items in the cart he shares that as he walked past her he felt like he was supposed to ask her if she was alright. He sensed she was distressed. She was. She couldn't lift her little girl out of the cart, she wasn't supposed to lift anything over 25 pounds because she was pregnant and had suffered a hernia. John said he would help and when he reached for the little girl she just jumped into his arms. Then he helped with their groceries. He's like that. The Patron Saint of Damsels in Distress.

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