Go On Ahead

   Go on, ahead.  I'm just gonna stay here and rest a little bit.  Just gonna warm up here under this tree.
   I pray sometimes.  I pray to a big ole father figure Santa Claus God in the sky on puffy white clouds in a white robe who wears a sad and compassionate smile.  I pray whenever I catch myself not looking right at something.  Then I catch myself praying and I stop.
   I'm fine.  I'm just catching my breath.  This tree is as good as any.  I'm comfortable here.  The view is terrific.
   In the parking lot of the apartment complex where I live an old man drags things to the dumpster in the very early morning hours before the sun comes up.  He does this nearly every morning.  Various things: a lumpy stained couch cushion, some framed painted prints of flowers, a broken broomstick.
   He staggers across the parking lot, shirtless and barefooted, his wasted chest gaunt and pale.  Shirtless so often, even in the cold, I begin to wonder if he has thrown all his shirts away and I wish he would do this in the harsh light of the afternoon sun so that it didn't appear to be such an act of shame.
   I'll catch up.  I promise.  It's nothing a little rest won't help.  Just a little moment of quiet reflection, if you please.
   I will struggle with tremendous effort and invest myself completely in any venture if it is certain to fail.  I consider it pointless otherwise.  It's part Puritan-ism and part personality defect.  Why do you bang your head against the wall so much the man asks the other man and the other man says because it feels so good when I stop.
   That's better.  Just some peace and quiet.  I can hear snowflakes landing on my parka.  See how happy I am here?  When I catch up with you my face will be the face of surprising happiness.  Please go on ahead.  I'll be here.  Please, please, please, please?  Go on ahead...