I have a friend who still believes in people.
His internal smile radiates from his eyes and his lips. Clouds hover over his every step, reminding him of what was and will never be again. He sees a child lying on the ground, strangers ignoring the boy like vultures. They pick and fly, swooping at the alone, never at the crowds. They prey upon the smells of animal crackers and milk. Picking the child up, he holds the boy in his arms, like his own. The crowd moves reluctantly, slowly, circling them on the ground, as I follow closely behind the two homeward bound. The child is set in a bed that reminds me of two years left in the dark, two years full of phantoms, the winds tear at my sides; now, all I can think of is sweet candy and sunlight. The child grew and played in the backyard under his favorite oak.
He likes the leaves under the autumn tree, falling.
Beautiful, changing shades.