Mr. Horton and I were enjoying a popular tourist’s venue. We paid a lot of money for each other’s ticket.The outdoor theater setting was a perfection of light and temperature. There were no disappointments for either of us. the performances were well done, the costumes brilliantly colored and uniquely creative.
For we two avid people watchers there were bonuses to observe all around us. At the generous break time, we waited in line for our sandwiches and drinks. Sprinkled about were tables and shades and lawn benches.
A man sat with his head bowed onto the back of his hands. His fingers, shoulders, and every part of him sagged, deeply to the ground. A woman of unknown relationship leaned toward him and asked. “Do you want me to call the pilot and have the plane readied? Side to side he shook his head, a frown consumed his mouth, his eyes, and his forehead. Seeing his motion, she hurriedly said. “We could go to Denver or San Francisco. Anywhere really.”
“No. There is nothing there, anywhere really. No.”
We took in their wardrobe of wealth. The woman’s expression was clearly one of loving compassion. Their skins glowed with vigor and health and a clarity in their eyes that could only be from physical health. Diamonds sparkled at her wrist and neck.
Yet he answered genuinely, and heartfelt from his perspective. “No. There is nothing there, anywhere really. No.”
Abbey of Gratitude 