Morning Walk

I walked through a veteran’s park on a frigid, sunny morning. I passed ragged old men splayed, sleeping, arguing, their possessions about them, in duffel bags, back packs, shopping carts. And yes, a bindle.

The men all wore black and brown clothing.

I carried coffee and fruit to eat breakfast along a lake full of birds, including a white pelican that seemed out of a dream. Perhaps it was. Perhaps I was dreaming it. I hope I was. I grow weary of dreaming of my dead husky.

The contrast between the pelican and the men braced me. They live among each other, outside, on the lake, in the willows of the lake.

Where will these men go today? What will they do? They are on foot. They are shambling along. There is great murder going on in this affluent country. There is cannibalization of the human spirit, the natural world. I see it as clearly as that while pelican on the lake.