Hands neatly folded in his lap. Blue-grey veins matching his clothes. Long grey beard and dreadlocks, rugged clothes, layer after layer, down to his knees.
He sat quietly, wisdom in his calmness. Moses against the stone backdrop of the city in a hurry.
The black and white limitations of my mind gave way to the greyness of the man in front of me. I could not take my eyes off his hands; a sense of serenity filling me.
In this way we meditated together – two strangers on the opposite side of the street, one on a bench, the other on a bus. An accidental prophet to this doubting Thomas.