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Beautiful Day, Isn't It?


The day started out rotten. I overslept and was late for work. Everything 
that happened at the office contributed to my nervous frenzy. By the time 
I reached the bus stop for my homeward trip, my stomach was one did knot.

As usual, the bus was late--and jammed. I had to stand in the aisle. As 
the lurching vehicle pulled me in all directions, my gloom deepened. 

Then I heard a deep voice from up front boom, "Beautiful day, isn't it?" 
Because of the crowd, I could not see the man, but I could hear him as he 
continued to comment on the spring scenery, calling attention to each 
approaching landmark. This church. That park. This cemetery. That 
firehouse. Soon all the passengers were gazing out the windows. The man's
enthusiasm was so contagious I found myself smiling for the first time that day. 

The reached my stop. Maneuvering toward the door, I got a look at our 
"guide": a plump figure with a black beard, wearing dark glasses, and 
a thin white cane. 

By Barbara Johnson


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