Walking home after parking my car, I passed by a man on the street.
His clothes were worn but not unseemly.
On his lap was a guitar he was stringing while beside him rested a faithful dog.
In his case was a cardboard sign with only one word I could see in the night: traveling.
How I’ve longed to take time and journey across the land on my wits by foot.
A great uncle of mine once told of growing up and hobos stopping by to do some chores for a meal.
Could I do that today?
Would I be able to meet many as I worked here and there for a bite to eat?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I saw a man today.
With only his wits, his music and his dog.
And I was jealous.