Watching the world pass by

Every morning when I walk to work I cross the river and walk through The Island of Creativity, an oasis of lush grasses, towering trees and art works suspended from the air. Yesterday, as I walked towards the bridge at the far end of the island, I saw a woman dancing. In one hand she held a large red fan. It fluttered and flitted like a one-winged butterfly as she spun and swirled gracefully around. Dancer and fan. A vision in grace.

What a beautiful morning to be alive! Hot sunshine streamed down upon my back. The air was redolent with the perfume of summer's flowers in full bloom. Birds twittered from trees, the air too heavy for them to even bother to lift their wings and fly. The river danced lazily along its banks. Sunshine sparkled on its surface like fairy dancers spinning their stories of love and laughter in the morning.

I crossed the suspension bridge at the end of the island, my body bobbing in time to its gentle sway. As I took the path along the river, I passed "Mr. Obelisk", an old man of Oriental descent who performs Ti-Chi every morning in front of a marble obelisk in the park. He moved with grace and precision, each extension of an arm or leg a study in intent. A measured expression. A beautiful flow of energy in the morning light.

I kept walking and saw "T.", a client from the shelter where I work, walking towards me. He wore work gloves and carried a large plastic garbage bag in one hand. A black backpack hung suspended from his shoulders. It looked heavy.

"Hey T," I called out as we got closer. He smiled in his quiet way and nodded his head as he always does. We both stopped to wait for a bike to pass between us before I crossed over the pathway to chat.

He held up his garbage bag. "I just started fifteen minutes ago," he said giving the bag a shake. I could hear bottles and cans rattling. "It's great. People float down the river, get as close to the shore as they can and throw away their beer bottles and cans. It happens every day when it's this hot." He took the cap from his head and wiped his brow. "Man it's hot."

"No kidding," I said. I pointed to the river six feet below us. The riverbank was crowded with brambles and shrubs. 'Queen Anne's Lace' made a delicate white filigree net amidst the greens and pink of wild roses in bloom. "You scramble down there? Looks treacherous."

T laughed. "Not really. It's filled with the makings of my lunch. I'll take these to the depot." He held up his garbage bag. "And then I'll buy myself a hotdog and pop and relax in the sun. Might do a little reading." T doesn't smile often but when he does, it feels like the sun just came out. On a blazing hot morning, I could still feel the warmth of his smile.

"How wonderful," I replied. He spied an empty beer bottle in the grasses below, scrambled partway down the bank, picked it up and put it in his bag.

I waited. "If only people knew what a service you provide to the city," I told him as he carefully closed the top of the bag. "They throw out their garbage where ever they want and you come and clean it up for no charge. Not a bad deal for the city."

He shrugged and laughed. "I get to keep the empties. It's fair."

We parted and I continued on my way to work as T continued to work his way down the river.

I wondered about the fairness of it. How fair is it that a man who is often criticized by passers-by as a no-good bum, labelled a criminal by many, and a drain on society by others, spends his morning picking up other people's garbage? How fair is it that in helping keep our city clean, his only reward is the return on the deposit for the bottles and cans he picks up?

I walked toward the shelter and saw other individuals lounging on the grass of the park, reading on a park bench and walking the paths. Some were visibly homeless. Some were hard to tell -- were they housed or not? What difference does it make? The parks are there for everyone to use. For all to enjoy. Just because someone is homeless doesn't mean they do not deserve the right to spend a few moments, or the day, sitting on a bench watching the world pass them by.

For our clients, sometimes it is in the watching of the world pass them by that they connect to their desire to get back up and climb aboard. In seeing what they're missing, they find the courage to pick up the pieces and find their way back home. Sometimes, it is just the brief respite that gives them the strength to start again, to take steps in a new direction. To step away from where they're at to somewhere else, somewhere they might want to put down roots and stay awhile.

For others, like T, they don't feel they're missing anything. This life is good enough for them the way it is. And sometimes, that includes picking up other people's garbage in order to get by.