Karl's symphony
Karl stood in front of Ms Johnson's flower shop in the early morning light, swaying slightly from foot to foot as the pretty flowers smiled back at him through the glass.He clutched his sandwich bag and beamed at the flowers, unable to drink them all in at once. His eyes flicked from one bouquet to another. Tulips and pansies marked shapes of beauty on Karl, as though they were the projector in a theater, and he was the canvas.
Ms Johnson spotted him from inside her shop and waved her hand to get his attention. He glanced up slowly and beamed at her, waving his hand. She pointed at her watch to indicate that he should hurry.
He nodded, still smiling, and started on his way, turning his head to cast a departing glance on the flowers.
When he got to the shop he opened the big roll-top door, letting the soft morning rays play on the gleaming racks of tools. He polished them every day and hung them neatly in their holders. He loved how they sparkled.
He put down his light jacket and sandwich bag, and stood over the engine compartment of an older Buick, frowning slightly like a mother at a sick child.
He began to work on the car, and his existence became a host of interlocking metal and plastic parts, churning in a beautiful symphony.
He didn't hear Frank open the door, and was badly startled. He loved Frank. Frank was so smart! He said good morning, and then turned around to get back to the Buick.
Frank had told him that sometimes when Karl got very involved in working on engines that he would become frustrated and say dirty words. Frank said that it sometimes made customers mad, but that was ok.
All Karl knew was that Jesus and his father God had made him and everything else and let him have a job working on beautiful cars.
He mothered the Buick back to health.
<-- | Comments(0) | -->