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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Game day snacks were on my mind as I quickly got into the check out line. March Madness enlivened a cold, gray day and made me impatient with any delay. Still, my line was express so I had no doubt that in just a few moments I'd be checked out. But there I stood; the line was still as the man in front rang up a huge bill. I saw some white hair. He looked 70 or 80 and the bags being packed looked awfully weighty. 10 items or less? That sign was a rip-off! I needed to move. I was missing the tip-off! He finally paid, then his bags nearly tore and his feet seemed attached to the new vinyl floor. Next came a struggle with his over-sized cane. My God, he was finished and still blocking the lane! He made a last wave with a toothless old smile a break-away exit just wasn't his style. Because of his age, I hadn't the heart to say to his face, "Move it, you old fart." But I watched with relief as he went out the door and I prayed that he'd never come back to this store. When I finally got out and ran to my car I saw that he still hadn't made it too far. The bags were all packed in his rusty, green van. yet he stood guarding something in his wrinkly,old hand. The game beckoned me, but I just had to pause for a moment to see what he had in his claws. As I walked over closer, I had nothing to say but my impatient soul softened slightly that day For there in his hand, making madness stand still was the beauty and joy of a March daffodil.
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