Yesterday, as I was leaving the house, an old man appeared at my door. He spoke to me in a thickly accented Spanish. He told me to go back inside. He sat on my couches and looked at me, weary and expectant. I brought him some coffee.
He spoke. Slowly, with words carefully chosen. I listened, and the day slid out from beneath me. His words seemed to bypass his brain and instead rose out gracefully from his chest, naked and untempered. He put a hand on my shoulder, and his watery eyes looked into mine with love, and implacable sweetness.
He asked me for another cup of coffee and I rose to boil the water. Returning, I found an empty couch and french doors ajar, sunshine pouring in from the east. I looked down the road and saw him slowly pulling on his sweater and cap as he walked. I smiled.
Turning back to the house, I saw a note written in green pen. “I want you to know one thing. If this is so, you shall lift your arms and your roots will set off.”
Folding the note into my wallet, I picked up my bag and began walking.