All I could do was notice.

Notice that birds sounded in the wet morning. See the waves rolling in mountainous sequence, soaking the shoreline where my toes were sinking in.

All I could do was watch myself, immersed in nature spectacular, yet round shouldered, hunched and worrying with a burdened mind. My story was a good one. The tale that stated the case for exactly why – this time, at least, oh yes, most definitely – I had every reason to be fretting. There were finances at stake, stability, livelihood. These were topics that had a right to overtake the morning.

Stress reasons well. I couldn’t argue its points. All I could do was observe that I was walking on a beautiful day and not a bird, nor a tree, or the breeze seemed to be a bit upset or preoccupied. And there I was – human that I am – moving one step in front of the other, in a paradise tainted by my own inner turmoil.

Not quite fully drowning in it (observation, my one and only lifeline), I held the proverbial rope of hope and made a request to the day: please help me remember.

My head stayed swamped with thought while my feet continued sifting through sand – that literal marker of time, so vast, though even its infinite grains could not penetrate my wrestling mind. I did notice a figure ahead, walking towards me and I glanced to my watch, continuing my pace. Work would start soon.

Backlit by morning sunlight, glowing golden, the lithe frame of a young man came closer into view as our paths neared crossing. He was probably about 21, his bare chest still boy-like and freshly pink from over-exposure to tropical sun. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and a hand-woven satchel was slung diagonally across his shoulders.

His face told all. The gentle smile spreading across it held no secrets (but for the greatest one that everyone forgets). I could plainly see that he remembered. His eyes were open windows, filled with awe and wonder and happiness. As we passed one another and exchanged “good mornings,” he did not look away. He gazed at me with serene endearment, a genuine openness. All-receptive, not just to me personally, but to all of it. To the moment.

Like a babe in an adult body, this hippie angel seemed to be experiencing the day as if for the first time, reverent and in wonder. Alive.

I continued walking in one direction as he walked the other, leaving a dusting of sweetness in his wake. His innocence and simplicity bathing me in remembrance. All I could do was notice. So touched, I felt like crying.

photo courtesy of Jewell Willett
photo courtesy of Jewell Willett

4 thoughts on “Hippie Angel

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