Pedestal   First you noticed the beard — an Old World beard, a patriarch’s beard, and the eyebrows — wild, white, alarming. And the fine blue eyes that peered down from — where? Mount Gnosis by way of nights around a glowing turf fire in Armagh, or Cork, telling the stories, listening. He made us want to be better people. So one day, he happened to need a lift; me, I just happened to have a car. The privilege was mine. So we’re driving through the woods, now sunny with the light that his eyes gave off, and with the bright shine of all I could do to be worthy of his smile, his friendship, his view of life. Life! Yes, that was it — real life we were discussing when the chipmunk darted out, bump-bump under the wheels.                                                         for Don Sheehan     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont May 2012