More than just a hello to a passerby,
A topic of conversation
Other than the weather.
Everyone is interesting
On a morning walk.
Even those who don’t respond.
So much to notice.
Dogs, young children,
A sports car being polished,
Contractors unloading materials,
A dug up front yard,
Yard sign proclaiming Black Lives Matter.
Overhead a swarm of men on a roof,
Hurrying to beat the rising sun’s rays.
Shingles float down to a dumpster
Like leaves.
Making room for the new.
Their job done.
A temptation to engage,
To comment, to converse.
Is speaking with stangers
Triggered by loneliness?
Or just a need to hear myself,
Alive and present, mindful.
©2022 Thomas W. Cummins
Tags: personal, poetry, spirituality
In a dim light... 
February 10, 2023 at 11:52 am |
Sometimes I think speaking with strangers is a form of recognition. For both of you. I am often surprised to walk away from a conversation with a stranger that has flowed so freely, it’s as if we have always known one another. But we’re there and gone again. Only to resurface in another conversation with or as different people. Over and over. Perhaps as much to do with our humanity as anything else.