Even on Piedmont 1

So, I walked up Piedmont Avenue yesterday on a spontaneous traipse and I really had a swell time.  My eyes and my senses were attuned to EVERYTHING. Each sound and smell came at me like a mac truck, and all the visuals, the stores and wares and goodies seemed to me to be from another land or time or space.  I guess I don't get out much.


  'Twas fun, this adventure.  From the gigantic great dane who sauntered by pressed up close to it's master, to the girl with the brooding eyes sitting on the sidewalk.  Every corner and nook offered something fresh, a departure from the mundane and my thirsty self drank it all in.  Another neat thing was that most of the stores were so small!  Just teeny little boxes, really, except for a few which labyrinthically (is that even a word?) went on and on forever once you got inside.  What a charming quirk.

All in all, it was was a good day.  EXCEPT for one tiny matter:  all of the homeless.  I saw many so many, and it broke my heart.  It was with a weary sigh that I continued up the street upon my arrival after noticing a group of transient people huddled together shooting the breeze with tired eyes and stringy hair under an awning.  Their bikes were parked nearby and the whole scene was in such bitter contrast to the bustling, affluent vibe surrounding them, that I had to give them props just for the guts to sit there.  Moving forward, as I continued looking around this newfound street in awe and wonder, my eyes happened to catch a lady with a head wrap and a dog sitting on some steps looking off into the distance with sad, faraway eyes.  I wanted to hug her, instead I walked away with a heavy heart.

After I had lunch, a hefty burrito, and discussed pets and allergies with a fellow diner at the Baja taqueria, I went on my way.  Right before crossing the street, I noticed a man at a bus stop who was sitting with a garbage bag stuffed full of clothes.  He was dressed in a raggedy black coat, had a beard and a tremor which made his book shake while he read.  What struck me was the dignity he looked to be desperately trying to maintain as he sat on that seat.  I wished I could have offered him something, but again, I didn't know what.

And finally there was yet ANOTHER man who I had to look at three times just to make sure what was going on.  He was also sitting on a bench, but this guy was in bad shape.  His face was bandaged and he was chewing on a straw which, at first, I thought to be some sort of feeding tube or blood (hence the double take).  His pant leg was folded up revealing more bandages and the rest of him was torn and bumped and bruised-looking.  He reminded me of a clubfoot pigeon.  I felt achey just looking at him.  We nodded at each other and I went on my way.

As my day came to a close and I walked back down Piedmont, many thoughts flooded my mind.  Mostly though, I wondered how I could help people like the ones I had seen that day who seemed to weave a black thread in the otherwise gold and lustrous fabric of this cute little street.  As I prayed asking God to help them, I heard a distinct little voice say "You help them".

To be continued...

(snaps courtesy of google images)