The traveler was tired. Tired of walking. Tired of begging. Tired of searching. His old joints creaked and ached. Everything was bone weary and sore. Even his ear lobes were screaming in pain. Just a little sit down. For a moment. To rest. Let the racing thoughts that jump and jostle demanding attention to settle and quiet. He slowly nodded off on that oh so soft mossy seat while Heckle and Jeckle told him tall tales and old jokes from the tree branches.
The children had followed the old gent from town. The baker who had chased them out of his shop, moments later had given the tattered old man a loaf of bread and a dinner sized wedge of cheese and small skin of wine. What made that old guy so special? He doesn’t live in town. He’s a stranger. In a town where just last month stones were thrown, chasing that stranger out of town. The children had taken part, along with most others. But not the baker. Nor the butcher or a few others. So what made this old man special?
Perhaps it’s in his rucksack the girl whispered to the boy. Her hand sneaking in around the tree and snatching that curiously coloured sack. The two ran behind a nearby tree. Nimble fingers quickly undoing the knot. But as if the sack did not want to give up its secrets, it took both of them to pull, tug, and stretch it open. To look deep into the sack, their faces bathed in a golden light. And slowly they began to smile. Larger and larger were their grins. Then a small chuckle. It grew. To giggles. Then laughs. And finally full out rolling on the ground belly aching guffaws. The children left the sack and sleeping begger as they laughing chased each other home.
The old gent woke to the sounds of Heckle and Jeckle laughing at the retreating children. He retrieved his rucksack, smiling at the memory of another child from the beginning of history. One whose tears he had dried. And had whispered hope is a very good thing to save. Asis a rucksack filled with laughter and joy.
The traveler was tired. Tired of walking. Tired of begging. Tired of searching. His old joints creaked and ached. Everything was bone weary and sore. Even his ear lobes were screaming in pain. Just a little sit down. For a moment. To rest. Let the racing thoughts that jump and jostle demanding attention to settle and quiet. He slowly nodded off on that oh so soft mossy seat while Heckle and Jeckle told him tall tales and old jokes from the tree branches.
The children had followed the old gent from town. The baker who had chased them out of his shop, moments later had given the tattered old man a loaf of bread and a dinner sized wedge of cheese and small skin of wine. What made that old guy so special? He doesn’t live in town. He’s a stranger. In a town where just last month stones were thrown, chasing that stranger out of town. The children had taken part, along with most others. But not the baker. Nor the butcher or a few others. So what made this old man special?
Perhaps it’s in his rucksack the girl whispered to the boy. Her hand sneaking in around the tree and snatching that curiously coloured sack. The two ran behind a nearby tree. Nimble fingers quickly undoing the knot. But as if the sack did not want to give up its secrets, it took both of them to pull, tug, and stretch it open. To look deep into the sack, their faces bathed in a golden light. And slowly they began to smile. Larger and larger were their grins. Then a small chuckle. It grew. To giggles. Then laughs. And finally full out rolling on the ground belly aching guffaws. The children left the sack and sleeping begger as they laughing chased each other home.
The old gent woke to the sounds of Heckle and Jeckle laughing at the retreating children. He retrieved his rucksack, smiling at the memory of another child from the beginning of history. One whose tears he had dried. And had whispered hope is a very good thing to save. Asis a rucksack filled with laughter and joy.