At the end of my block an elderly man lives in a wheelchair and sits just off to the side of the driveway that leads to the back of a gas station and a prominent injury lawyer’s firm. He faces the street, across which are two majestic banyans, as if framing a driveway, that may have been there once and may have led to a home but now frame only a bit of open space surrounded by dense woods. Hurricanes tend to swallow things here.

The man is sometimes between the two banyans. Sometimes he is in an open garage area of the gas station that is no longer used, but I think when the station changed from a "Pure" to a "Shell" they made him leave. There is a younger man with a bicycle who is there with the man probably every day. I see him often.

I am aware of this man’s presence. I wonder if he is aware of mine. I have "done nothing" for him. Seems absurd to be wary of a stranger who appears so helpless. But I am wary. I’m not afraid of him—emotionally or physically. I’m curious about him, who he is, who he was, how he got to a wheelchair off US Hwy 1 in Martin County. But I haven’t asked. When I consider stopping and chatting...it seems almost intrusive. He is in his "home" with no doors for me to knock on first...I have never knocked on the doors of my other neighbors. I have never presumed that his need is dictated by my assessment. Or that he would welcome me...

When I worked in Chicago I visited the Art Institute everyday during my lunch time and noticed a homeless woman who watched folks who might discard food into the big trash cans on the street. One day I managed to catch her eye and I made sure she saw that I had a sandwich and that I put half of it back in the bag. When I finished my half, eating as I sat on the steps to the Institute, she continued doing her thing but noticed me when I stood. I walked by the trash can and laid the bag on top and crossed the street heading back to my office. I did turn to see if she had understood my message and she was there, eating the sandwich, watching me walk away. I was only there six months and I didn’t see her every day and I never spoke with her. But we were connected.

The message today to be aware is greatly encouraging. At some point perhaps there will be an opportunity to "do something" for the man at the end of my street.

The image of the man sleeping by the escalator, disturbing no one, yet becoming the victim of someone who noticed him is a profoundly troubling image. It should be. But which is more troubling to me—that the woman insisted on having him be removed? Or that the reality of his situation dictated that he had to sleep by an escalator?

Knowing how best to respond (or how best to judge need) is a constant question for me.

Perhaps you (fellow readers on a similar path) might have an insight?