Recently, I attended a farmer's market and received one of the best compliments I have ever been given by a stranger. Strolling around the booths, I saw a man hawking his green, multi-ingredient concoction and decided to sample some. The drink was tasty, but that is not the point. The man had a stringy goatee hanging tenaciously from his chin down to mid-chest, and he said to me with a glint of admiration in his eyes: do you climb mountains? No preamble, straight to the point. It would have been a stretch to reply yes. I have been to the top of several mountains, most with well-groomed trails and cellphone reception. But the gleam in the man's eyes, the timbre of his gruff voice, suggested the dreamy luster of a month-long, solitary march through harsh conditions, living from the fat of the land and the sharpness of my wits. I have not done this. But, to be mistaken for someone who does, or even could, made me smile.
Sally forth,
walter