Perception

Trees, grass, birds. The faint rumble in the distance. Smells of fresh cut grass waft in with the morning fog. The railroad crossing lights are illuminated, a bright red pulsation overpowers the orange ombre of the rising sun. A modern symphony of car horns thunders through to the park, the sound waves dancing on the wind playfully, without malice. People lost in their thoughts of the day and days past waiting in an endless march. Locked, trapped by their metal kingdom, or is it their prison? Diseased by their phones, worries, fears and commitments. The line of cars waits, blind to the simple beauty of nature's morning tradition.

A sole man sits on a dew-covered park bench with not a phone in sight, not a worry of what is to come, what has been, or what he cannot control. Years of experience and history, love and heartbreak etched into his aging skin. The sun brightens the soft blue halo in his eyes; The sharp, caring, knowing eyes that have seen endless sunrises and sunsets, the highs and lows of history. He glances behind him at the symphony of vehicles jarring for their spot in traffic, smiling sadly at their misplaced emotion. He continues his morning ritual, digesting the simple pleasures around while everyone waits. Waiting under the omniscient, repetitive glow of the railroad lights, dreading the cage of their own making. Drowned, numbed by the countless social media crazes, the online arguments.

"It's funny..." The old man thinks. "If everyone would take just one day to stop blaming each other, they'd realize everyone has battles. Everyone has struggles and fights. Why focus the remaining energy fighting someone, especially not knowing their current fights..."

He closes his eyes and focuses. Quiet giggling permeates his head, drowning out the sounds around him. A silhouette appears in his mind, cloudy, hazy from his now aging memory. Try all he might, he cannot get her to fully focus, but the eyes... The eyes are always clear and bright in his mind. Deep emerald oceans look back at him with pure love and adoration.

"You gotta stay out of your head Chris! You don't live in the moment enough. All I hear is about work and worries yet look where we are!"

She curls her hand under his chin softly pulling his gaze to the horizon. Still groggy from waking up before the sunrise he begrudgingly looks towards the rising god. Seconds turn to minutes, he opens his mouth to speak about leaving, but the angel beside him slowly shushes him. In that moment the sun crests above the horizon, illuminating the tall field. The tall field he once thought obnoxious and unnecessary for a sunrise. However, in that shushed moment he hears his angel softly speak.

"Look. Look at how the sun reflects off the dew on the field, how the flowers and grass dance with the light breeze. How the sun warms our skin."

The fog lifts. Something he only thought was an expression. However, in front of him he sees a magic never felt before, true, unadulterated happiness. What was he worried about? Every bit of anxiety and fear for what is, and what is to come lifted, much as the morning fog, caused by the same beauty of the rising God. She pulls him and giggles, "dance with me!", the memory fading out to black.

He sighs and focuses back to the present.

Realizing he was unconsciously tracing the etched initials in the park bench he smiles softly. "You taught me how to see the world around me with a childlike joy. I miss you... but I know you're changing lives for the better, wherever you are" The initials, decades old but still legible to this day. He brings his fingers to his lips, kissing them and lightly pressing them to her initials. The two letters that belonged to the angel who saved his life and showed him love. Not just love for each other but love for strangers. Love for the world around us.

For the gentle elder lazily perched on the aged park bench, each day is a gift. Full of surprises and love. Love for what was, what is to come, and what is now. For the passerby's, its merely Monday.