On a recent trip to the Vinoy Park nestled along the bay, I espied this gentlemen in a seeming reflective pose. Directly behind him is a children's play area with jungle gym, mountain climbing and all manner of swing and merry-go-round.
I imagined what he must be thinking as he nears the end of his life with all the children behind him starting theirs. Thinking, perhaps of his own journey, the mistakes, the passions, the youth that he lost many decades ago.
Wondering perhaps, if his own life was successful. If he touched others, and if he left a mark for when he exits the mortal coil. Looking at all the forks in the road that predestined his life and therefore the ripple effect for those around him as well.
Did I live life well? Was I found wanting? Am I good? Will I live on?
From the pose one might surmise that he answered in a negative fashion. That his choices in life limited his talents, his vision, his joy, and perhaps even his ability to cross over to the part of our consciousness scholars have named, Heaven.
I wondered as I snapped these pictures. Is he so fraught with reflection that on this beautiful fall day, perhaps this one person, in a sea of people, had decided he'd failed. Or maybe it was a lost love. His wife, maybe succumbed to some illness and here he sits at a park they enjoyed, he, now, a solitary embodiment of lost love, of heartbreak so immense as to swallow a person whole.
Yikes! Or maybe just a homeless bum drinking his beer in a public park. Hmmm. Somehow I liked my story better.
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