My Easter Mission

I woke up with a mission.
I wanted tulips, or any kind of flowers, for that matter.
And I wanted to buy them from a girl sitting on a corner.
I even imagined what she looked like. She would be pretty, but not too pretty, a little Bohemian, wearing a shawl or a floppy hat. I would make her day by buying a bunch of over-priced flowers for myself, and surprise her and buy another bouquet for her. She would smile at me, thank me, wish me a Happy Easter, and we would be on our way.
"Mind the cold," I would say, as she drew her shawl a little closer to her face, and then she would return to fixing her stand and replace the two bouquets with ones from a pail she kept behind her chair.





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I don't know that I expected flowers at every gas station, but I thought there would be girls out there, somewhere, trying to make a few bucks on a cold and blustery Easter weekend which, according to the weather report, is going to get even more blustery.
We turned the car towards downtown thinking maybe on Elgin Street or Main Street I would find that one girl. Usually, on an Easter, there are dozens.
But there were no girls out this Pandemic Sunday.
Just as there were no families gathered at old folks' homes, or around the dinner table.
There were only cops, the occasional jogger, and  a few stray couples wearing face masks walking just to get from A to B.
We crossed Rideau Street and headed towards the Byward Market which was deserted, with only an ice cream stand open. I wanted to stop to give my money to the vendor but it was too cold for ice cream.
We turned right and cruised down past Dalhousie Street, and it was there we saw a crowd.
A group of men were milling around, smoking, and shivering in the cold in front of the Salvation Army. They weren't keeping their distance, they were hovering close together; nobody stopped them, nobody cared about them, not even the cops.
It made me sad.
Then I thought about all the people who looked forward to a hot cooked Easter dinner today, who were always brought in from the cold by churches, and restaurants, to break bread.
What were they doing while I was out looking for flowers?
We turned around and headed home, and we saw a couple of homeless folks, sitting on chairs along the Rideau Canal, covering themselves with blankets to guard against the elements, trying to stay warm.
Suddenly, my quest for flowers seemed selfish, insignificant even mean.
We came home, Scott let out the dogs, and I made us a sandwich.
Then I came down here and spent my flower money on something better. I donated it to the
 Ottawa Mission. I had found my Mission after all.