Stopping by king's memorial on a snowy evening - A Winter's tale

STOPPING BY KING’S MEMORIAL ON A SNOWY EVENING - A WINTER’S TALE

Awed.

He stood wrapped in overcoat and long scarf, arms crossed, before the monument of the great man.
​Dr. King, with arms crossed, gazed down at him, like a father welcoming his returning son.
Both were bathed in the wintry light.
The Tidal Basin, a frozen mirror of fire and ice, caught the setting sun nearby.

Newly fallen snow had formed a mantel across the great man’s shoulders and covered folded granite arms.
Like some Black Prince, deep in thought, he pondered the towering figure staring back.
He’d come to pay homage, to show respect.
Seeking counsel, wisdom, to pay a debt.

A wooded grove, harboring distant secrets, formed a silent backdrop to the snowy scene.

One by one, thoughts filled his mind.

Whose woods are these? He looked around.
The spot where you’re standing is hallowed ground.
​There's no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friend.

“Tell them about the dream, Martin!”
​If I can help somebody as I travel along, my living shall not be in vain.
The dream’s the thing. Martin Luther King.

Winter in America, Lord knows. The darkest evening of the year.
Keep pressing. A dream deferred is not a dream denied.
Ask and it shall be given. Seek and ye shall find. Knock and it shall be opened unto you.  

​Wait! Did MLK just move?

The statue seemed to turn towards him and dab.

​The shifting ground didn't make a sound. What?
King’s voice rang out along the Mall,
​"Now, don’t forget about the dream.”
A shooting star raced cross the sky.

When he turned around, King stood right where he’d been before.
Towering. Heroic. Majestic.
​He, definitely, didn't need to think twice.
The pilgrimage had been well worth the price.

Woke.​

© Kenneth Lillard