Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
He sits on the bench outside the nursing home. He has long white hair and a full white beard. Naturally, he resembles Santa Claus. He also resembles a man at church who looks like Santa Claus. He also looks like my priest. I approach with a hopeful spirit suited for any of the above. As I pass him, I look over and smile. He smiles faintly, he nods, he says, “Hello.” And I reply with a cheerful “Hi.” He resumes staring at the flowers that my mother could surely name, but which I didn’t notice until I saw where he was staring. It’s my nature to want to sit and ask about his day, but I get the sense that I should let him have the peace of the day and the breeze on the blooms. I grin in his direction while I leave the parking lot, but he isn’t waiting for me to pass. He is locked in on the flowers, though any facial expressions are hidden in white. He is leaning forward on the bench with his hands cupped in front of him and Heaven knows on his mind.