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There was an old man old my bus yesterday. Orange gator shirt, burgundy blazer, khakis, and a golf cap: red,black&white. He was the colour of Georgia clay after a summer rain. His eyes were still new and penny bright. I watched as he showed the man next to him his Harmonica. The tips of his fingers which had worn the blue case free of velvet vanity are soft. are delicate. and decorate the case in a finery of all their own. I watch them as he opens the case with care. with reverence and deliberation. and they are strong. And looking at them I miss my Grandfather. The silver sparkles in the sun. Or maybe it is the sun that sparkles in the silver of his instrument as he brings it to his lips to play. And I think: . How Rude! - Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2004 - 12:16 PM One small step but no giant leap. - Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 11:17 AM Where's George? - Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 - 12:48 PM |
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a Nifty design 
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