Beside the highway leading out of town, he stands beneath the green trees. I don’t know who he is, nor does he know who I am. I do not think he cares to know my identity.
   He waves to me – To everyone. His face is happy. His smile is bright. I feel better after I pass by, because he has shared his joy, his love for life and people with me.
   He does not come to the roadside in a moment of idleness, nor without careful preparation. As I wear a robe, adorned with a cross to raise the sacrament to my people… he brings his chair, a thermos, an eye shade and his shaggy dog.
   I think about him – Tiny figure, beside the road, offering his sacrament of a ‘Good Day’ to everyone who passes. I wonder how his days are spent. Are they long, as mine? Does anyone raise a hand to him? When the cars are gone and the night closes in, what does he do? I do not know but I think he is happy in the remembrance of his ministry of love. I think he falls asleep smiling.
   Tiny figure beside the road — you know so well what one taught so long ago… “For whatsoever ye would that men should do to you… do ye also unto them…” and “… by your standard of measure… it shall be measured to you again.”
   I lift my hand to you — tiny figure — I must learn to sing your song.
   Let me live in my house by the side of the road. It’s here that the wall of men go by. They are good. They are bad. They are weak. They are strong, wise (and) foolish. So am I!!
   Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat, or hurl the cynic’s ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road and be a friend of man.