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By BILL THOMPSON
Sometimes images just appear suddenly but they make such an impression that they last forever. Such was the case last week as we experienced an especially heavy and lingering fog.
There is something ethereal about fog. It just blots out everything that’s worldly. That’s why the appearance of a worldly element like a human being gives the picture a unique quality.
Just down the road from my house is an old abandoned house. A portion of the roof is caved in and all the doors and windows are broken or gone.
Anybody who would choose to stay more than a few minutes around that hovel must do so because he has no other choice. Such a person appeared there that foggy morning last week.
As I went out the back door of my house on the way to work, I noticed a bright light glowing in the fog. It was a flickering light so I thought it might be a grass fire in the heavy brush. So I picked up a shovel from the storage building and began walking toward the light.
The fog had made the high grass wet and subsequently my clothes were getting soaked as I walked toward the light. As I drew closer I was sure it was a fire. I wondered how a fire could get started when the grass was so wet. It then occurred to me that the old house might be on fire. So I started walking faster.
Just a few yards from the fire I saw some movement that blocked out my view of the fire. That was the first time it occurred to me that there might be someone there.
I slowed my pace hoping to approach close enough to see who might be by the fire without alerting them to my presence. The fog was so thick I was just a few feet away before I could see the individual. He was standing very close to the small campfire.
The light from the fire bounced off the wet fog that surrounded the man, creating a kind of halo effect. He stood there with his head bent down concentrating on the fire. A blanket was draped around his shoulders, a broad brimmed hat on his head.
I could hear the traffic passing on the highway just a few yards away. Surely someone had noticed the fire. I wondered why no one had reported it to the local fire department.
The man appeared to be harmless. I assumed he was just another homeless person who had found a modicum of shelter for the night. I figured as soon as the fog lifted he would be on his way so I would just go back home, change my wet clothes and go to work. But as I turned to go back I heard the man ask, “Who’s there? Whatcha want?”
I turned back and walked into the light of the campfire. I told him I lived close by, had seen the light of his fire and was checking it out.
He said, “I ain’t hurtin’ nothin’. I’m on my way to Wilmington. Hear they got a shelter down there I can get into. Maybe get a meal. I’ll be movin’ on soon as the fog lets up enough I can get my bike on the road without gettin’ run over.”
He pointed over toward the old house where I could barely see a bicycle leaning against what was left of a wall.
I didn’t know what to say to him. I felt sorry for him but I was a little leery of him, too. So I said, “If you’re hungry you can come on up to the house. I think there’s some breakfast still there.”
He replied, “Nope. I ain’t no beggar. I’ll just go on to where there’s other people like me.
Always better to stick with your own kind.”
I said, “Suit yourself but be sure to put out the fire.” Then I went back home. But the man’s remark about sticking with his own kind stayed with me and I felt guilty. After all, he was a human being … my own kind.