Blessed

In the predawn day I peddle my bicycle when a car pulls along beside me and hands me the Savannah Morning News.

"Thanks Robin," I say as she speeds off.

Actually my subscription has lapsed because that is no longer my life. It was big psychological break to no longer have the Newspaper hit my drive way. There were countless mornings when I was waiting on it to see what had been written about me or the work. For decades I read it at the counter of the Breakfast Club and then pass it on to others. Now, they buy newspapers, rip out the crossword puzzle and hand the rest to me returning the favor.

At the Club I'd forgotten my money so was going to have to go home and get it and come back. Johnny O stands up and announces, "Got you covered this morning Rev."

"This is going to be an interesting day," I think to myself.

Leaving the Club an unnamed brown boy calls me over to inspect his latest work of art. Having obtained some reflective tape he decided that the stick figures in the crosswalk signs should be anatomically correct ... so he added penises ... big ones. It will be interesting to see how long it takes people to figure this out though it is a drastic improvement over the several thousand bland black stick person on yellow background signs that are everywhere on Tybee Island.

Peddling back home, my tires need air. Grabbing the quarters I used to use for the thousands of parking meters in downtown Savannah I make my way to the air pump.

"REV!!!!!!!" I hear a deep and husky voice.

Looking up, it is my friend Davy, the drummer in the Samuel Adams Band, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee with our friend Rosco. They are waiting for their ride to work. I walk over and we all hug. I've been told this is a Southern thing. Maybe. Who cares? It is a good thing.

Peddling back home, Goddess starts pawing at me. She makes me smile so I put her lease on and off we go again. She is in no hurry today. It takes forever to walk a half block to the marsh. She meanders ... marking her territory as I stand there and just smell the marsh ... which is the smell of sex in the tropics ... standing under a Palm Tree I stare across the expanse of green grass dancing on a High Tide.

"How?" I say out loud to God.

It is the first prayer of the day.

Beauty is dripping like molasses all around me. The morning sun baths the world in gold. A choir of cicadas sing Hymns. A cool breeze from the northeast blows and my long hair hugs my cheek. Pelicans fly in V-formation offering protection from evil. God has painted splashes of green on a backdrop of deep blue. A lighthouse stands in the middle saying "Follow me, I won't lead you wrong."

"How?" I say again.

How did I get here. Several years of hell have miraculously been replaced by this.

How?

Why?

I ponder these questions.

Ever the logical thinker, I first tell myself that after everything that I've given away I'm finally getting some back. Karma, right? What goes around, comes around. Good trumps bad. Love beats hate.

Except I know that these things are not always true. I've seen people give and never receive, bad Karma, the things that go around never come back, bad sometimes rules and ... love can simply disappear. Bad things can happen to good people.

Goddess nudges her butt against my leg. I lovingly scratch her. The beauty drips everywhere.

"I don't know how," I say out loud again to God.

"But thank you."

Then Goddess and I walk back to our home.