My shameful day.

I people watch. Maybe that makes me a spy. They probably don’t know I’m watching. Did it today. At an Irish Festival. In St. Paul. Most of the watching was at an outdoor concert. By a small Irish band. Called Altan. Very, very good music. I looked around. At people. A guy with a beard. Reminded me of pictures I’d seen. Of famous author Leo Tolstoy. I felt like asking him. How long did it take to grow such a long and rich beard? But I didn’t. Then there was a woman. Attractive. Bespectacled. Big walking boots. A bulging brown back-pack. Hanging below her waist.  A camera, too.  Focused on the band. Maybe she was 50. Closely-cropped salt-and-pepper colored hair. She was alone. I spotted a ring. On her left hand.  Maybe a wedding ring. Wished I had approached. To start a conversation. To satisfy my curiosity. Next, a one-legged man zoomed past. On crutches. Faster than I walk on two legs.   The entire leg was gone. All the way to the groin. No doubt, he had a story to tell.  If only I had asked. Yes, it was a shameful day. For me.  Didn't even collect their names. –Jim Broede