toes

I saw a homeless guy asleep on the sidewalk today. For some reason, he had his shoes off and I could see his toes and the wrinkles on his soles. I was looking out my windshield and his toes looked like dusty grapes. He had high arches. Through the whole red light, I thought about those feet and how someone, somewhere must have held those tiny little feet of his in their hands when he was just a little baby. How warm and fragile they must have been then. I could imagine his feet getting roughed up the way mine did when I was a kid and ran around all summer long building up calloused pads like a pirate or an indian. They were long and narrow, though. Not like mine in that regard. They looked almost refined. How did he end up there and not in a car waiting at a light waiting for GO like the rest of us? Where have those feet been? Wrinkled with the toes curling like a little weak fist trying to keep the warmth there? I thought about all the acts of kindness and generosity I have benefitted from in my life. I remember the people who helped me out a lot more clearly than the ones who cheated me or beat me in some way. It made me think about how lucky most of us are to not be lying there exposed and somewhat numb.