The gift

London, mid November. It is freezing outside and light snow is falling. I stop by a book store, to warm-up a bit, and a book with ‘short stories for the soul’ catches my attention. I read this touching short story while standing in the queue to pay:

 A bus is bumping along a back road in one of the southern states of America.

In one seat a wispy old man sat holding a bunch of fresh flowers. Across the aisle was a young girl whose eyes came back again and again to the man’s flowers.
The time came for the old man to get off. Impulsively he thrust the flowers into the girl’s lap.

“I can see you love the flowers,” he explained, “and I think my wife would like for you to have them. I’ll tell her I gave them to you.”

The girl accepted the flowers, and then watched the old man get off the bus and walk through the gate of a small cemetery.

 (From “The chicken soup for the soul” by Jack Canfield & Mark Victor Hansen)

I paid for the book and exit the book store to the noisy and cold street. My thoughts were still with the story and I wondered what was in the story that I liked so much. Was it the power of ‘life must go on’ along with longing for those who are not with us any longer?

Fireworks (19)
Shuka, Thursday, 18 December, 2008

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