Down The Well.
I’m sitting at The Well in Nashville. I’m at the long table by the big window with the view of Lipscomb. A gentlemen in a wheelchair rolls by. He’s young. Not much older than me. He’s wearing a white polo that squeezes tightly around bulging tree-trunk like arms. That’s what happens when your arms become your legs. He stops his wheelchair. Leans down. Picks up a tattered piece of fabric in the grass, adding it to a pile of trash laying in a heap on his lap. The trash is boisterous against his clean thoughtfully-ironed khakis. I keep watching. He keeps rolling. Onto the next piece of trash littering this world he goes. I start writing. I start writing about how this gent can’t use his legs but is leaving the world better than he found it.
By Cole Schafer.
P.S. One day these one minute writings will be a big book called “One Minute, Please.” Can I let you know when that day comes? You can say yes, here.