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The Museum

Caricature of SteveI enjoy the museum. Its colors, variety, beauty, grace, form and colors. An occasional fragrance, aroma or bouquet teases your nose ever so gently. If you are especially attentive you might hear or imagine you perceive a melody that appropriately enhances this time and place.

Men of a certain age appreciate the joys of the museum. Its collection evokes whispers of a bygone era when younger hopes, anticipation and dreams ruled. But that is not now. That is not our today. We are creatures allotted a discrete time and space. It is wise men who know this and are guided by its truth.

I expect nothing more than to savor the pleasure of the museum as a spectator. I do not covet the collection. I do not want to possess its holdings. I dare not touch the beauty of the image only inches from where I stand or sit. To embrace the display is not my desire. To possess what is not mine would destroy the magic of this  immersion in total sensory delight.

What I see, smell and perhaps even hear is a community treasure. I am one of many to savor this moment—to share the pleasure from afar.

I return home content from this brief exposure to one of life’s pleasures.

“Did you see something you liked?” she asks.

“Yes,” I answer. “But everything I want is here.”


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