Passing By

I have passed you many days and nights, for weeks and months and years. Your grave, glad, benevolent face shows naught of the steel-like strength of you. But I know it is there, and it is here, in the world around me. I’ve never seen another man or woman or child even glance at you. They pass you by as if you didn’t exist. And part of me is glad for that, glad that it is only I who see and know you. It is a sacred thing.

Once, when I had my hand on the door, and was ready to step outside, when I realized I had not looked at you, I looked, and your returning glance was like a blessing. I then felt the indomitable strength of you, or perhaps it was myself, I’m not sure.

You ask nothing of me, and to look at you is not a duty, but an act of honoring the best in me, the creative, hardworking best. I enjoy your silent, private gazes; they tell me how much I am worthy of the company of human greatness, even if only to honor and admire it. So, thank you, Andrew Carnegie, for being the great American industrialist. Thank you for your energy, your passion, the un- yielding focus of your mind, and for the sheer love of what you were doing.

See you next week.

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