Overcast Friday in an industrial parking lot. A cautious Canadian goose pokes through the clustered cars and heads towards the retention pond with two fluffy goslings in tow. Then three… four… more. Other adult geese take up the rear and the group slips into the reeds. I feel as voyeur, and recipient at once. It is my good fortune to be both. The day feels charmed.
A homeless man on the street, His hair rich and heavy, swept back away from his broad forehead. He looks exactly like James Brown in the later years. I am briefly touched, and feel the need for outreach. He bows to the pavement, dropping to one knee: I am suddenly overcome by the image of an assistant, or a stage hand, rushing to his side and draping a cape on his back, but no one appears. He is merely stooping to pick up a discarded cigarette butt. The act returns him to his status as a homeless person, But now the Godfather of Sole.