2020-04-27T20:47:03-04:00April 30th, 2020|Musings on life|

The colour of marigolds

As soon as I turn left
I see that he is stuck
in his big truck and bigger trailer
trying to coax all that metal
around the parked cars

I could back up and go another way
but I see the line up of cars behind him
and I look at his face

I can’t tell if he’s stressed
or if the lines on his forehead
are just because he’s so old

but his turban is the colour of marigolds
and his eyes meet mine
so I quickly park and ask if he needs help
which he accepts before I remember
that I have been spatially challenged since I was a kid
and also have a mild phobia of big trucks

but I stand behind his trailer
which I now see is full of dirt
and I shout to him in his rear view mirror

nope yep nope nope

as he inches forward and then back and then forward again
but nobody behind me is honking
and his turban really is the most beautiful colour
yet it goes on a long time
then suddenly
like a baby being born
after a long labour
he is free

he waves to me out his window
and says something in a language
that sounds like raindrops

and I shout back

you’re welcome

like the way the words were meant
me at the door of my heart
flinging it open
and this old Sikh man
my most special guest.

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