Race

October 12, 2006

Harry couldn’t help but to reflect on what he just saw. He felt the need to shake his head a bit. It was as if a cobweb had enveloped his mind, causing him to shake and grind in a somewhat hurried discourse.

So Harry did hurry along his merry way. But still. What was it that he just saw? If he thought about it some more, would it change? Would he somehow begin to see his own mind and its own capacities in a different light?

Harry struggled with the notion.

He reached into his pocket, and picked at its cloth with his bulbous, calloused fingers. He could pick apart its contents: some old worn pieces of gum, an Advil of some sorts, the likes of which probably has coated its surroundings in a subtle orange. Harry couldn’t help to wonder if the pocket’s collective contents were enjoying the benefits of the subtle smooth coating. Mmm… the orange coating. Actually on further thought, Harry fancied it a brown coating. Ah yes, a shiny nickel. No, maybe a quarter. He always got those confused.

A sudden shrieking in the tree above Harry quickly drew him away from the intense mining procedure in his pocket. What sort of creature could lay home to such a wicked searing glare of air? A crow, Harry assumed. What luck beset upon this blind man’s thick crowning skull. A crow it just as might have well been.

Harry couldn’t help to wonder what made the crow squawk to him his ungodly presence. It was as if by some twisted sorted slither of fate the crow was meant to send a message. Harry insisted it must have been a positive message. It made him feel better. A smile cracked along his chapped, flaking lips.

Slowly, Harry made his way past the dewy park bench and glistening apple-green grass of the city park.

He could only wonder where he was going next.