By Winnie Bolton
I’m following through on last month’s column about “unexpected goodness” for this month’s column concerning a gentleman who had just such an experience. His email was lyrical and his heartfelt adventure a pure joy to read.
Here it is verbatim:
“The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read beneath the straggly branches of an old oak tree. Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, for the world was intent on dragging me down.
“And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day, a young boy approached me tired from play. He stood before me with his head tilted down and said with excitement, ‘Look what I found!’ In his hand was a flower, what a pitiful sight, with its petals all worn – not enough rain or too little light.
“Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off and play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away but instead of retreating he sat next to my side.
“Placing the flower to his nose, he declared with overacted surprise, ‘It sure smells pretty and feels soft too. That’s why I picked it, here it’s for you.’
“The weed before me was dying or dead, not vibrant colors, yellow, orange or red. But I knew I must take it or he might not leave. I reached for the flower and replied, ‘Just what I need.’
“But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, he held it mid-air without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time that the weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
“I heard my voice quiver; tears shone in the sun as I thanked him for picking the very best one. ‘You’re welcome,’ he smiled, then ran off to play, unaware of the impact he’d had on my day. I sat there and wondered how he managed to see a self-pitying person beneath an old oak tree.
“How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart he’d been blessed with true sight.
“Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see. The problem was not with the world, the problem was with me.
“And for all of those times I myself was blind, I vowed to see the beauty in life and appreciate every second that’s mine. Then I held that wilted flower up to my nose and breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose.”
