Monk

A monk I saw this morning, not far from me, in grey, happy, sacred. We connected. He smiled a living smile, a transforming smile. His joy beautiful stirred me, brought a tear. A deep smile emanated within me too and stayed. A taxi driver cut across my road dangerously close, I smiled, waved him on. He waved back, apologetic. I see the monk’s face in other faces, not old, not young but in widely wrinkled smiles. This monk, his joy and his smile will remain with me. We will meet again, and connect a kind face, a small brass bowl.