A Beautiful Man

I woke up this morning, went to church, sat and listened, like any normal Sunday. I decided that today was such a beautiful day, that I would go to the park behind my apartment, sit by the lake, and tan and do homework for a bit. I always think I will be able to get work done, but in reality I never do. I didn't really tan either. Oh well. I was sitting on one of the park benches next to the lake, and about... 150 meters from me was a man, in the shadows, sitting at a table, looking out across the lake. Actually, I think it is more of a pond, but whatever... body of water. Occasionally, this man would get up from the table, and walk over to the park bench closer to the body of water. Sitting. Waiting. Then he'd get back up and walk back to the table. It was a little bit bizarre to me. As I was reading one of my assigned articles, the man approached me, asking me for a piece of paper. Willingly, I tore a page out of my sketch book and handed it to him. He walked back to his table, staring at the piece of paper. I was curious as to what he'd do with the page.

He was an older man, maybe in his 60s, fully dressed in long black slacks, and a red-maroon collared shirt, on what may be one of the hottest weeks we've had this summer. His hair was loosely gel-ed back, white with remnants of his former hair color, and sort of dark brown, or black. His square face was dark, wrinkled, and freckle-covered, as if he spent many days of his youth in the sun. He seemed tired, as if he'd been working most of his life. His teeth were yellow, not-well kept. Jagged, and misaligned. By the way he looked and talked, you could tell he wasn't a native to America, but his he spoke English amazingly well. His accent hidden well enough that you couldn't tell what nationality he was.

I watched him, with an occasional glance. My eyes going from him, to the water, back to him. At first he was hunched over, I thought maybe he was writing something on the paper. Eventually I looked at him, and he had manage to get the white piece of sketch paper onto a twig, and it was standing upwards on the table. It looked like a restaurant flag, that signals which tables are reserved for guests. After about 30 minutes after that, he continued pacing between the table and the bench, until finally he left, passing me by and thanking me for the paper.

As he left, I made up my mind to go see what it was that he did with the paper. About 15 minutes after he left, I got up, packed my things, and walked over to his table. As I approached, the paper was indeed attached to a stick, about 18 inches high, stuck between two tables so that it was standing straight up. The paper was near the top of the stick, but at the very top was a symbol all too common on Sunday mornings. The top of the stick was shaped as a cross. A small cross, but a cross.

This event, just struck me as beautiful. I stood there at his table for a good 20 minutes, staring at his artwork... his creation. Looking at it, and then back at the water. Wondering what he must've been thinking. What in his life would compel this man to create such a simple, yet beautiful thing in the middle of a park. I wish that I could've talked to him about it. I know that is strange, but part of me just wishes I knew what he was thinking. We didn't exchange more than 2 sentences to each other, but want an impact he has made on my day.

His exterior would make any person second guess him, but he was indeed a beautiful man.