Ben

It was his eyes that drew me.

The day had become too severe
– the glaring heat, the jostling crowds,
my empty wine glass coated in dust.
I hastened toward the shade of the trees and the juggler's hut.
"Free Juggling Lessons," a sign proclaimed,
and a thought rose within my weary mind.

Ah, to juggle! Not objects, but the vagaries of one's life
– the disappointments, the fears, the regrets;
to send them all skyward and blur them into transcendental colors!
to balance them and view them anew in their motion
as realities from which I can learn,
as realities that indeed hold meaning.

"Would you like to learn?"
The young juggler's rapid movements and focused expression ceased
as he calmly looked toward me and awaited my response.
Yes, it was his eyes that drew me,
that beckoned me to accept;
his eyes that conveyed patient and sincere encouragement
as I fumbled and dropped the balls again and again.

I may not have juggled the physical objects
for more than a moment,
but already my spirits were soaring,
my hopes revived.

Before departing I asked if I could take his photograph.
He smiled, lay down his juggling balls and fetched the pins.
"These look more dramatic," he explained
with a wry and enthusiastic grin.

He juggled.

And his photograph I took.

Image: "Ben" by Michael J. Bayly (Minnesota Renaissance Festival, August 1996).