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acceptance, forgiveness, here am I send me, homeless, journey, life, love, moments, path, sharing, soul, spirit, story, truth, what matters most
Most every day, he is there.
Sonny stands on the exit ramp with his dog (Miss Peabody), dependent on hearts that often can’t see him, eyes that rarely meet his.
He has become my friend. I speak to him anytime I’m on the ramp. Sometimes I offer him a bottle of water, a newspaper, a sausage biscuit (for Miss Peabody), or some spare change. I enjoy talking with him, and he has told me more than once how much I mean to him. Miss Peabody rests her head on my window while we talk, likely grateful for a few moments of air conditioning.
A week ago last Friday, as I pulled away and into traffic, I realized that I had not mentioned my plans to be on vacation the following week. When I traveled the same road that afternoon, I looked for him but he wasn’t around.
The week passed, and yesterday morning, as I approached the top of the ramp, I saw him. I had never seen him in such a state. He was sitting on the guardrail rather than standing, holding Miss Peabody at his side as he looked toward the ground. He didn’t even look up, and just as I stopped, the light changed.
I rolled down the window and hollered, ‘wake up, Sonny’.
His head jerked and he was immediately on his feet waving his arm, all the while juggling Miss Peabody and laughing…
I haven’t talked to him since returning. This morning, someone else had reached the ramp ahead of him and taken his ‘spot’. Regardless, I expect I will see him soon.
We can never know the impact we have on another’s life, or how the size of our own heart can alter the size of another’s. I only know that Sonny blesses my life…..and I think I bless his.
How easy to forget that we belong to one another. Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer is too small to be made into a burden.
let me know
when you are going
tell my heart
that it be spared
from the ache
that finds you missing
left to mourn
for moments shared
I will grieve
until you find me
carried by your presence home
to a place
that is our passing
lest we ever
walk alone
. . .
tornadoday 
Happiness is a ball after which we run wherever it rolls, and we push it with our feet when it stops. Beauty and grace command the world. Whether you call my heart affectionate, or you call it womanish: I confess, that to my misfortune, it is soft. – Mata Yassi
In stillness, we remember the brush of our hands against our heart………as the waves held us as one.
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
Wish more people had this outlook toward others, Bobbie. Life would be so much more pleasant for everyone. …🌸🌻🌸…….💚
❤
P.S. ….like the new pic 😊
Thank you!!!!
Your loving grace of non-judgment and yes, that energy is surely felt. ❤ Bobbie huge ❤
Thank you, Jane. I just think most have forgotten how it feels to be lost…….and how it feels to be found. ❤