Older man with long, dreadlocked beard in shades of gray was spreading out his bedding over public picnic tables just as the sun broke through for a little bit on a mainly overcast day. Three am snow flurries still covered our 'hood and turned our Railyard in to a pristine looking landscape.
He refused my offer of an inflatable mattress I happen to have available to give away, but assured me that he was leading a very good life, connected to white wolfs, bears, and rabbits that would spend the night with him. He sings and composes in french and speaks with a lovely accent. He explained that he acts as a kind of messenger between the realms.
"It's my birthday today" he said "no longer sure" he said "it has been so long, I am an old man now, seventy, sometime in January or February." A lady had been bringing him sweet coffee with cream and soft boiled eggs. Never knowing where he would be at any given time, they may have missed each other of late.
By the time I returned with some goodies, a thermal mug with hot water and a variety of teas, three I hoped still soft boiled eggs, a bit of salt folded in to a napkin, a quickly heated up tortilla with melted goat cheese for consumption, leather gloves and a Pantagonia soft sweatshirt for warmth, this free spirit had already moved on. Next day the nourishment I had left behind on the park bench were gone, while the items for warmth are on hold in hopes for another meeting with this wondrous spirit.
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