Being seen

A new year begins

In the last hour of sunlight, on the last day of December, among the groceries are black-eyed peas and kale, not collards, the best I can do on short notice in a place that has a hard time deciding if it’s northern or southern. I’ll turn them into Hoppin’ John, adding brown butter cornbread to sop up the pot liquor and round out our simple holiday meal.

Leaving the store, I notice a tall, gray-haired man in the parking lot on the far side of my car. He’s lost his, I think, but he lingers so long in the same spot that I wonder if he’s waiting for me or for some desiccated memory to reconstitute itself.

I am alongside, ready to load in my bags, the stranger still standing, still staring, and for the first time, I am close enough to follow his gaze.

”Are you looking at the clouds?” I ask.

“I am,” he says, not shifting his focus. “They’re so beautiful.”

I see them now, sliding like water over stones, like ancient spirits, like feelings, see them the way they deserve to be seen. “They are. So beautiful.”

“Happy New Year,” he says, turning back at last to step into his pick-up truck.

“Happy New Year,” I echo. “Happy… New… Year…”

~Elizabeth