The temperature hit 112° F as I got out
of the car to walk Thunderbird. A few
spaces down, a young man was standing
near his car. He looked like he was in
email or texting mode. He was dressed
in running shorts only. “Adonis lives,”
was my first thought. Stark white.
Perfectly muscular. As I opened the
trunk to get my walking stick, he took
off running up the trail to the first ridge
line. He looked like a Greek statue; not
one body hair! To say that he and I were
opposites is an understatement. Here I
am dressed in black top and shorts, my
belt with stuff hanging all over it, two
water bottles, and a walking stick. He,
on the other hand, ran off with nothing.
Just his phone and shorts; no water!
As I crested the first ridge, no sign of
him. I was only a minute or two behind
him or so I thought. I got to the top of
next ridge which gave me a wider view.
I started to pan the trails visible from
this vantage point. No sign of him.
Fifty-five minutes later I was back in
the parking lot. His car was gone. Wow!
In my car cooling down, I toweled my
head, neck, and arms. Then, on the
drive back home, I started to chuckle.
How did he do that? You and I both
know that Adonis lives in Greek
mythology; not in that parking lot!
I have enough hair on my body for at
least three people! A big knot above
my left knee. My skin is more olive
than white. (Maybe that is why the
Army listed me as “Other.”) Well, it
is a good thing that the Lord loves
me like I am. Adonis, I’m not. I had
a power bar soon after I got home.
I was depleted, needed protein. She
just left for a meeting but I’m now
thinking dinner. I have one frozen
hamburger left. Sounds good. Not
very hungry. Good day. I baked in
the sun and basked in my Father’s
love for me as I am; hair, knots,
and all. Correction: Great day.
Hamburger, sliced pickles, ketchup.
Cheese? Annoying phone alarm.
It is garbage night. Trash out first,
then dinner. And iced tea. Most
might say I saw an ordinary guy;
another my guardian angel. I’ve
never been one to agree with “most.”
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)