Ancient Druid. A.M.

I usually come to work around 5 in the morning. I jump in the shower, get dressed in sweats and drive through the still sleeping city I love so much. It takes me 10 minutes to arrive at my office versus the 45 it would take even an hour later. I crank up the music and let my little body and soul wake up with the sun.

This time is always so special to me. There is NO ONE around! Well, except for Bushman. Bushman sees me every morning with my hair still sopping wet, dragging my make up case, work clothes and hair dryer through the dark parking lot. Bushman is our resident homeless dude. He's been here for years. He lives by the river that runs behind our office.



How to describe Bushman..... He's got wild, wild hair, hence the nickname. He has the full on Grizzly Adams beard and a wild, untamed look in his eye at first glance. He always carries a filthy blanket over his shoulder. Bushman used to wait until someone entered our building in the am and would glide right in behind so he could wash up in the restrooms on the first floor. Since people were frightened of him, we upped the ante on our security system and Bushman pretty much stays away now.



I see Bushman almost every morning. I gave him money once. He grunted and accepted it, never once looking me straight in the eye. But I looked at him and saw a gentle giant of a man who somehow either chooses to live life outdoors, probably has mental challenges and lives on the fringe of society. Bushman does not appear to suffer from substance abuse. He seems wounded, shy and feral.



This morning, I jumped out of the shower and realized all my sweats were in the washer. Since it is cold outside and I don't like to put my work clothes on before I dry my hair in the office bathroom, I looked around and saw the black robe my friend loaned me for Halloween. Full on black with a hood, pointed sleeves and floor length, it was perfect to keep me warm while I made the dash from my car to the office. Besides, no one would be around to see me.....



I drove to work in my Druid robe, parked the car and grabbed my stuff to drag into the building. As I rounded the corner, I encountered Bushman sleeping on the picnic table in front. He opened his eyes as I approached and let out a little tiny scream. Not realizing I was wearing a black robe that probably resembled the Grim Reaper, I squeaked out a "Good Morning" in my high pitched voice. Bushman shook his head, mentally collected himself and grunted out a gruff phrase that might have been some sort of Good Morning back. Either that or "What the FUCK are you wearing?"



Not much is known about the Druids. They left no written records about themselves. The only evidence they existed comes from descriptions and stories from the authors of that time. I think about Bushman. No one really thinks about his existence. He is like a ghost passing through. No one even knows his real name. Maybe one day I will find the courage to ask him. Maybe he'll tell me. Maybe not.....