Birdman Outside Buckingham
Once, long ago, in a park named after James, there lurked a nameless old man. Scraggy, unkept, probably homeless. You know the kind. He was wearing a long trench coat with wide, deep pockets filled with bird seed. Everyday this man would walk through the park. Over the bridge and through the passes. Digging deep into his pockets and dispensing his seeds as he went. Each and every one of his friends and more came to eat.
Sometimes, he would stop to give a handful to the children who played on the swings, chatting with the parents about the weather or whatever came to mind. Of course, new parents to this scene were a bit trepidatious. It's ok, though, they were only trained to be that way.
Now, the old man knew all his friends loved his seeds. They were fortifying. He only brought the best, most nutritious kind ever. Like milk and honey is was! They would start to gather, one by one, then in twos. Finally threes and fours. Many, many more...a wonderful site to see!
He then told us kids to extend our arms and stay very still. He placed seed in our hands and on top of our heads. Then with a whorl his countenance spread in a flurry about our persons, throwing handfuls of seed into the air. They came in droves! So many it was like a cloud. They landed on our arms, our shoulders, some even on our heads. The feel of little feet hopping lightly on our skin was exhilarating. The fluttery breezes from the beat of their wings instilling the very spirit of God on earth into our very souls.
How many more nameless nobodies are there who instill this kind of greatness into the heart? All those dead nobodies, all the the living ones, and all the nobodies of posterity. How many more?
It's the little things that people do to help each other that make a difference.
Feed the birds...