I don’t know you, but I do know that:
1. You’re the morning crossing guard in our neighborhood, carefully watching out for all the little munchkins on their way to elementary school.
2. You wear sunglasses, even when the inversion has settled in over our valley.
3. You wave hello to me every day, and I look forward to it.
4. You bring a broom with you and if there are any rocks on the sidewalk, you sweep them out of the way for everyone headed to and fro.

I know so little, and yet, I know so much.

And you. I don’t know you either, but I do know that:
1. You’re a commuter.
2. You’re a reader of Stephen King novels.
3. When you catch my gaze, your eyes don’t look quite right and it gives me the willies.

I know so little, and yet, I know so much.

And you, dear woman. Yes you. I don’t know you, but I do know that:
1. You smile and say hello to every person that climbs aboard the light-rail.
2. You’re a chatter, asking others what they’re reading and where they’re headed.
3. You are transient, I see, with a bag of wares, your world, at your feet.

I know so little, and yet, I know so much.

Amazing isn’t it? What we can know from quiet observation? The deductions we make from a few simple variables?

I don’t know, how much you know, about me. But I hope, that based on what I wear, and what I read, and how I speak, and the actions I make, especially when I think no one is watching, that you know, the real me. I owe that to you. I owe it to myself. I owe it to God.

These daily presentations.