Unexpected Help

A boy, no more than twelve, I'd guess,
approached my chair, metal shovel in his hand.
"You're having trouble with that umbrella
so I came to dig you a hole." He dug, I tamped around the pole with one foot, and soon the source
of much-needed shade stood tall and firm
against the shifting sand and breeze. I offered him
a sandwich for his time, a pbj (declined in favor
of the ham he'd brought from home) and after he'd gone back to his family, he must've mentioned I had done so. A woman waved and called a "Thank you" as if I had been the one to go out of my way to help. And just that quickly, I could tell you their
life story, family grounded in the ways of courtesy, respect,
of doing things for others just because it's right, of faith
because so often that's foundation for a
decency too seldom practiced in society,
of dinners 'round a table, children taught
to do their chores and homework first and
brush their teeth. A tiny view, but I am confident
that in the brightness of the sun today,
my eyesight was as true as the sky was cloudless,
blazing hot but unable to burn me underneath
the comfort of a young boy's thoughtfulness.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013