Blue Man



     The narrow path of pine needles and smooth pebbles led to the shore of a green pond whose surface reflected the gently moving shapes of boats on the pier. Savoy walked carefully towards the water. An old man whom he had seen many times smoked near the water's edge. He wore a kerchief on his head, one hand tucked into the pocket of his denim jacket. Savoy thought of him as blue — his kerchief, his jacket, his jeans . . . the trail of smoke.  For the first time ever, he said hello.

     The blue man nodded, his smile kind, his eyes blue. Savoy walked along the shore respecting solitude. But also putting distance between himself and the smoke — unmistakably weed, which had once held a significant place in his life, some would say too significant, long ago.

     A lone duck floated in the water. Savoy watched as the current moved it away. Ripples captured him and he knew he could watch water all day. Across the pond Blue Man vanished. ~