The shadows were long . . . and I turned away
The fields have gone quiet now and the October shadows are long there. Baseball is the only sport I truly care about and that end-of-season melancholy always comes. I walked way down to this deserted little field by the river intending to take many pictures. I only took two. Going around the concession stand to the other side, I saw him. He was sitting alone at the bottom of the bleachers – bent over, head down - crying . . . sobbing.
A strong and certain feeling hit me hard. Go over there, sit down, put your arm around him. They were like spoken words - commands, really. I stopped . . . I thought about it . . . and I turned away. I hurried back out into the sun by the river, back out to the bridges, the trail, the people riding their bikes and laughing, the Burlington tracks where trains would be coming.
I can tell myself so many things. He went out there to be alone. He didn’t want to be bothered or have you invading his privacy. You didn’t know him. It wasn’t safe – there was no one else around. Yes - but none of that makes me feel any better.
The afternoon was golden, warm enough and sunny. I had been happily wandering with my camera and got a few shots that I liked. I saw so many folks out there enjoying the day – but for every one of us there must have been another hidden and hurting, broken-hearted or struggling. I found one of them . . . and I turned away. That’s what I’ll remember about yesterday. Would it have eased his burden, given him hope, or lifted his heavy heart if only I’d listened to mine?
The shadows were long . . . and I turned away
The fields have gone quiet now and the October shadows are long there. Baseball is the only sport I truly care about and that end-of-season melancholy always comes. I walked way down to this deserted little field by the river intending to take many pictures. I only took two. Going around the concession stand to the other side, I saw him. He was sitting alone at the bottom of the bleachers – bent over, head down - crying . . . sobbing.
A strong and certain feeling hit me hard. Go over there, sit down, put your arm around him. They were like spoken words - commands, really. I stopped . . . I thought about it . . . and I turned away. I hurried back out into the sun by the river, back out to the bridges, the trail, the people riding their bikes and laughing, the Burlington tracks where trains would be coming.
I can tell myself so many things. He went out there to be alone. He didn’t want to be bothered or have you invading his privacy. You didn’t know him. It wasn’t safe – there was no one else around. Yes - but none of that makes me feel any better.
The afternoon was golden, warm enough and sunny. I had been happily wandering with my camera and got a few shots that I liked. I saw so many folks out there enjoying the day – but for every one of us there must have been another hidden and hurting, broken-hearted or struggling. I found one of them . . . and I turned away. That’s what I’ll remember about yesterday. Would it have eased his burden, given him hope, or lifted his heavy heart if only I’d listened to mine?