Just a bit ducky.

I went for a walk, alone in the woods, not knowing what I might find.
Some trees and rotting apples, a river, women fitness walking.
Sand, bark dust in my shoe, a reminder of a flood in 1996.
No trespassing signs, a couple, some friends fishing.
And a man.

He wasn't necessarily fat, but had that beer belly thing going on. He was sitting on a bench and I observed that his arms could rest of the top his belly. He had two loaves of bread with him and there were ducks all around him. Tearing little pieces off each slice he would flail an arm, which would fling the bread, and his arm would return to rest on his belly. What I loved most about this man was that he seemed peaceful sitting there. The ducks were happy. He seemed happy. And yet, he was also alone. I can't say that he felt alone because we didn't converse, and I doubt he even knows of my existence or that I was watching him. But sitting there, he would break the bread and share it with his friends, and there he found peace. I love that.

And then grace.

Showers are usually intended to make things clean and new again. Sometimes, showers seem to remind of the mess that is always present but pushed into the corners and along the edges so we don't remember they're there. Sometimes, spring rains will push all of the mud and debris from along the curbs and corners of the street into the middle. In those times I hardly want to walk down the street. Showers for bathing can bring the same thing- A reminder of how dirty we have become and the chance to become clean. Sometimes, though, it seems the dirt of our youth has become forever lodged in the pores of our soul. Adolescent misunderstanding and thoughtless pursuit have stained the underside of our fingernails and all we can do is scrub. Unfortunately, time is what will take the stains away, not scrubbing harder. To perform an act over and over intending a different result is insanity, right? So why do we always go out to play in the mud and expect to stay clean?