A Dream
Ben, (a friend of mine) and I were together going to yard sales and at each one we attended we found tables laden with a variety of articles of little interest to us. We came at last to an elderly woman’s house and to where the sale had been set up in a garage. Inside the garage we found a large table laden with hundreds of bundles of paper. The paper appeared blank, some were dirty, some worn and stained. Others were torn and damp.
“Why would anyone try and sell old stained and torn paper?” Ben asked.
“I have no idea,” I answered.
The elderly woman came in to the garage and I asked her why she had all the bundled blank paper for sale.
She looked up at me rather strangely and shook her head. “You are either dumb or very insensitive,” she sharply replied. “The paper is not for sale and is not blank and each bundle is a life story and there are hundreds of them. Some are torn and stained from life’s hardships. Some of the stories are tragically short, others are long and damp with tears of joy and sadness.
“But there is nothing written on them,” I replied.
“You cannot read life,” she answered, but live it, feel it and then and only then will you appreciate each bundle here.”
Adios
Ben, (a friend of mine) and I were together going to yard sales and at each one we attended we found tables laden with a variety of articles of little interest to us. We came at last to an elderly woman’s house and to where the sale had been set up in a garage. Inside the garage we found a large table laden with hundreds of bundles of paper. The paper appeared blank, some were dirty, some worn and stained. Others were torn and damp.
“Why would anyone try and sell old stained and torn paper?” Ben asked.
“I have no idea,” I answered.
The elderly woman came in to the garage and I asked her why she had all the bundled blank paper for sale.
She looked up at me rather strangely and shook her head. “You are either dumb or very insensitive,” she sharply replied. “The paper is not for sale and is not blank and each bundle is a life story and there are hundreds of them. Some are torn and stained from life’s hardships. Some of the stories are tragically short, others are long and damp with tears of joy and sadness.
“But there is nothing written on them,” I replied.
“You cannot read life,” she answered, but live it, feel it and then and only then will you appreciate each bundle here.”
Adios
1 comment:
Ohhhh I like this- a lot.
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