That Rare Place

The spirit is such a fragile thing, given to the whims of the times in which it exists. After a fabulous dinner with friends in Ybor City last night, in the rain, I am sitting here this morning in an auto shop, about to spend a great deal of money, and finding myself grateful that other people know how to fix things that I cannot. I say it is a rare place for me because I go and I go and rarely do I pause to drink in the world through which I wander. The air is fresh this morning and the summer heat a bit dissipated. There is promise in the air. Watching the mechanic perform surgery on my vehicle, his hands moving over the engine in a manner reminiscent of Paderewski’s fingers as they flew over the 88 keys of a Steinway concert grand. We take the efforts of others too lightly, I think. We often immortalize the wrong people. We forget the greatness that comes with humility. To those who read this message in a bottle, thanks for finding me.