Assumptions and Walt Whitman

[Eternum 1]

There is a man I see unexpectedly when I'm visiting the localvillage. He stands out among the burghers of this town for two reasons. One,he carries a leather bound notebook at all times and can be seen writing there-in in many of the coffee shops in winter or at sidewalk bistros and park benches in summer.

The other thing is his remarkable appearance. He has a flowing white beard that hides his shirt benath a herringbone jacket. He often wears a jaunty cap favored by englishmen but will at times change to an outrageous affectation that came fresh out of Dr Seuss with green and white striping above his equally snowy locks of shoulder length hair.

A few years ago when Lord of the Rings was playing in the local cinema,school children at recess would run to the fence as he walked by shouting "Gandalf, Gandalf...It's Gandalf the Wizard!"

This hamlet you should know is one of many, where rents are reasonable and so our elected officials, ever vigilant of the public purse closed many urban mental health facilities and moved the former patients from Vancouver where property rountinely sells for hundreds of thousands of dollars. I assumed by his eccentric appearance and somewhat shabby demeanor that he was one of those who followed the trail of past citizens who once habituated these climes during the internment camp phase of the second world war.

I chanced to sit next to him one day with a large cup of coffee in my hand. I noted that he had completed all the crossword puzzles in the Globe Sunday edition and was opening his leather bound book.

Normally I'm not too inquisitive about my neighbors in such places but as I watched him lift his eyes in that familiar pose of thought we often attribute to Einstein or at least thinkers of some renown, I realized I was looking longer then was politic or polite.

Then it dawned on me that it wasn't some unfortunate institutionalized victim of schiophrenia who was bending over his thumbworn pages but an image of my own Gandalf f rom bygone days.

I'm speaking of the American poet Walt Whitman whom I had seen in lithographs from the storied past and here before me sat his twin as live as life.

I ran down into the book cellar in the far recesses of my mind and found a quote :

" I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. "

Then I realised I had spoken out loud and Mr Gandalf/Whitman had heard me. He paused looked over at me and smiled. Then he tied up his leather notebook and doffed his cap, stood and walked out the door.

I watched him leave to stand at the corner pausing momentarily to look back to where I sat by the coffee shop window. His look at me said "must be one of those crazies the government moves to small towns for the cheap rent".

[bags123]

Intriguing write my friend. Enjoyed.

[Eternum 1]

Grazi, Signore Baggo .

[ninian]

i really liked this, eternum, your style reads so smoothly and easily that i was quickly caught up and could picture you sitting there...

nicely done :)

Ninian

[Eternum 1]

thank you nin.

[snorple]

Very good, I enjoyed, nice ending, well written.

[Eternum 1]

[heinzs]

Have you encountered the gentleman since?

[snorple]

Are you telling us that the USA government unloads mentaly ill people on to unsuspecting communities to save money on the cheaper rents? Who needs such a government. (smiles tongue in cheek)