Saucier: A faraway look

Leaving the airport, I pulled to the side of the street to get my bearings.

I studied my many options on the signs ahead, then the harbor to my right caught my eye.

The water lapping against the sides of the sailboats, their masts doodling on the blue slate sky, and a gorgeous skyline across the bay gave it the irresistible power of pause.

Across the sidewalk, a lone man sat on a bench facing the harbor. His clothes were dingy and his long hair was stuffed under a stocking cap.

He wore a jacket despite the afternoon’s warmth. He could have been homeless, but who knows these days? The torn knees in his jeans could be as much a statement of style as a reminder of a lost job.

Given his hands, though, his worn and frayed look was likely earned, not bought.

There was a plastic bag by his side. He reached into it and pulled out what was left of a baguette. He began tearing off pieces and throwing them on the ground in front of him.

From time to time, he would take a bite from the remains of the loaf, then go back to scattering the crumbs.

Birds began to gather for the meal. When he was finished serving, he folded the used wrapper from the bread and placed it back in his bag.

He lifted his eyes to the water and for the longest time, remained that way, fixed and unmoving, staring at the horizon.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his head as he gazed into the beyond. Was this just a break from what he was doing or not doing that day?

Was he trying to figure out the next step of his life, whether it was where he would sleep that night or where he would be in 10 years?

Or maybe it was that other stare, the one that few have learned, the one in which we confess that we have done all in our earthly power and have still come up short? With nothing more we can do, we stare at the horizon, searching for some sign of the help we still believe will come.

He made me feel inadequate and ill at ease. Here I was, frantically looking for direction, while he sat there, patiently waiting on a way.

This meditation was originally published in the Nov. 2, 2012, issue of The Catholic Missourian.