That’s the broader view.
But on the canvas they have given me, with the paintbrushes of my choice, you will find the mosaic of life, as I see it.
You will find that what I see, is how we are all the same.
Not our differences.
And how it took being around those who love the outside, for me to see what is inside all of us.
All about wonder.
I wonder, what it is that I will leave my children.
A 5-bedroom house.
A filled safe-deposit box in a land free of taxes.
What will be the canvas I leave behind.
That we all leave behind.
It will be the canvas, I found here, on the Mystic shores.
A paintbrush in the form of a duck.
As everyone gathered around the flames of the BBQ, I took a walk down a paved path between the Yacht Club, and the waters of the Mystic.
A lady jogged by.
A man was getting his boat ready for a nighttime cruise.
A buoy proclaimed, “No Wake,” but I thought to myself, it is in fact the wakes we make…that make us.
A few miles from that very buoy, a wake started that went on to become, America.
A wake we call, The American Revolution.
But it was between the Yachts and the flames of the BBQ, where the universe sent me the paintbrush for this story.
By way of a duck.
A duck walking down the paved path.
An urban duck, wary, but unafraid of all the non-ducks around him.
The canvas I was given was a duck with the remnants of a plastic bag wrapped around one wing.
And as the duck squawked at me as it walked by, after it passed, I stuck my foot out and stepped on the plastic bag that trailed it.
And the duck fell.
Fell to one side.
Wiggled around like I had somehow killed the thing.
The jogger stopped jogging.
A man on a bench, stood up.
They looked not at the duck, but at the duck killer…me.
Until the duck got up and walked away.
Without the plastic bag.
Which remained under my foot.
We are given the canvas, and sometimes the paintbrush, but it is up to us, to paint life.
I hope that when the urban duck righted itself and took a second to look up at me…that what it saw was, tomorrow.
That what it felt, was wonder.
That what it knew though, was that it had a future.
I believe, that in the end, we will be judged by the canvas we leave behind.
It is not our canvas to choose.
But it is our brushstrokes that will decide our fate.
My hope, is that when all the canvases are put together, and when you stand back and look at it, you will see the face in the mosaic.
And it will be your face.
And it will be my face.
And it will be the faces of our children.
And it will be the faces of your neighbors.
And it will be the faces of the fish.
And the ducks.
And the bird on the next branch.
It will be the face, of Mother Earth.
The mosaic provided by the paintbrush,
of the Universe.
“…this must be, this must be, what it's all about.”
“So Quiet In Here”
See you next week at the All-Star event,