Forever Blessed

It was a Simon and Garfunkel kind of morning; time seemed transcended within the drizzly fog grayness, mysterious and haunting. Rush hour traffic lemming its way toward the high-rise skyline; the cars mutely pass one another, straining to stay the course on a rain-slicked highway. And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Downtown, workers scurry from curb to curb, faceless under drab wet umbrellas. They walk in small groups on the sidewalks, dirty water droplets fly as their shoes strike the pavement. Underneath a building portico, huddling small to escape the notice of the doorman, a homeless woman pulls the dirty collar of a thrift-store overcoat around her face. A bright headscarf in a red rose print contrasts garishly with her grizzled hair and brown complexion, heavy with lines of worry and need. A black plastic bag is lying in front of her knees, her whole being held together with a yellow twist-tie band. She is not begging, no pleas for money from the passing tides of clerks, lawyers and bankers; just a hope that she won’t be forced out of her corner until the rain passes. Her eyes are closed.
Old friends, winter companions, silently sharing the same fears.

I park my eight-passenger SUV in its assigned space; an inanimate behemoth in a security-patrolled parking garage with electronic gates and carpeted walkways. Stopping to speak to Mr. Kim, proprietor of the Paradise Grill, I pull out a dollar bill for my usual purchase of a toasted bagel. The elevator responds to my push of a button, and I ride alone up thirteen flights. Entering the front reception office I walk across a wool rug and maneuver around the overstuffed chairs. I pour myself a cup of Starbucks special roast coffee and sit down at my desk. Feeling chilled, I switch on the small electric heater at my feet. The telephone by my side is instant communication to the outside world and a short walk down the hall is a clean private bathroom. I touch the large plate-glass window with a picturesque view of the Trinity River; a quaint railroad trestle sewn to each side of its levied banks. The thick pane is cold and my breath creates a tiny frosted circle. In my little town, I grew up believing God keeps His eye on us all.

"Fools," said I, "you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows."
"Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed in the wells of silence.