Where Errands Meet

I decided, as day cooled into evening, that I should probably leave the house after spending the entire afternoon on the couch re-re-reading The Lord of the Rings. This passage was going through my head as I stepped off the porch:

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

And so I headed down to Boulevard Park to see what adventures I could get into. The railroad tracks looked like as good a path as any and so I followed them--trees on my right and the bay on my left, the sun was over the water preparing for breakfast in Asia I guess.

At the park I found a good stone and, laying in the grass, rested my head against it facing the setting sun. I brought my book with me and for a while I wandered off to Middle Earth and battled Caradhras, the spirit of the mountain. Then out of the corner of my eye a man appeared, forcing me to deal with regular ol' earth. He appeared at first glance to be a hard fellow with tattoos covering his arms and a pair of biker glasses covering his eyes. He made me uncomfortable at first, invading my space as he was. I nodded politely and then put my face quickly back into the book hoping to avoid long conversation. He pulled out a guitar and asked if I would mind if he played a little. No, that would be fine, who can refuse free music!? He plucked away, nothing spectacular but it made me happy. I put my book down and enjoyed his music quietly.

There was a family reunion or some such gathering in the middle of the park and two old men from the bbq wandered over near the water, near this man playing guitar and with me, silently listened. This man, who I had taken at first to be hard was obviously very kind and offered the old men his seat. They thanked him but continued to stand. The younger of the two, probably in his sixties, was holding up the older man who was swaying with old age. "This is my father. He is ninety three years old. He loves the guitar." The 93 year old said yes, he loved music and when his fingers weren't so stiff, he loves playin' the banjo. The tattooed man's eyes lit up from behind his glasses and he begged the old man to play a song with his guitar. The old man took the guitar with some trepidation and the two men held his arms and placed him, sitting, on the rock. The ancient man warmed up and played a lick or two of some old time country music.

What a treat to hear such an old timer play a forgotten tune!

Father and son limped away after the song was through and tattoo man and I got into that conversation I was initially trying to avoid. I've heard that we should always be kind to people, that we never know when we may be entertaining angels. This tattooed man, with the bright eyes behind those dark glasses, might have been an angel for all I know.