2/27

The wind is whipping as I walk toward the campus today.  It’s early and the sun is just coming up over the buildings and tree tops.  

The warm glow of oranges and blues is hard to admire with the wind.  My cheek seems to be glued to my shoulder as a shield.  Which also makes crossing University Ave even harder.  As I turn left to peer down the road, the first four lanes are empty.  So I take my time traversing to the median.

Then I see the old man.  He’s dressed in thermal spandex.  Purple.  Or maybe dark blues and blacks.  With black goggles covering his eyes.  A bushy gray beard protruding from his tight hood.  He’s energetically marching along.  Swinging his arms.  Taking small determined steps with his chicken legs.  Into traffic.

I pause at the median and look right.  There are a line of headlights a couple blocks down.  Two in each lane.  Beaming toward us through the early morning light.

And into them he marches.  Right down the middle of the road.

“Excuse me, sir?” I shout.

But he just lifts his knees and swings his arms.

So I walk out into the road with him.  I pace myself beside him.  He’s moving slower than I thought.  “Sir, you’re walking into traffic.”

The wind is still slapping us about.  I wonder if my words are getting lost.

So I shout again, “Sir, do you know where you are?”

He stops then.  A dead halt.  As I do with him.  Then it’s just the wind moving.  Pushing and whizzing and whipping.

He turns to me.  I pull my cheek from my shoulder to give him a good look.  He’s shorter than I thought he was.  “Do you know where you are?”  I shout.

The cars are getting closer now.  A block away.

“Do you?”  He shouts back.

Then he turns and marches on his way.  Just as the light turns green.