I walked to school most mornings when there is no sparing of a bus token.
Every morning with no daily routine broken.
I witness Mister Charlie in his immaculate green uniform, wheeling his three-wheel barrel with the burden of a shovel and push-broom down the main street.
In all weather, the icy cold to the blistering heat.
There is a proud and contented look upon his face.
If he had some unfilled longings there was no trace.
No look of discernment crowns his head, of his fitted place.
No Bothersome thoughts of his menial labor as a disgrace.
After the years he spent fighting in the war, To him, it is an honorable
job to be working for the city.
Even when the crowd is thick and the street is busy.
To many, he was a floating fixture taken for granted.
To others, he was acknowledged and appreciated.
To me he was a stimulus for moral thinking, living in the state of mind of the beauty of simplicity that life affords him.
The memory of my childhood in 1959. Copyright 2016 Looking At The Light At The Bottom of The Lake.
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