Story: Claiming Your Corner, from Keepers of the Story, Megan McKenna

“I knew a man once. No one seemed to remember his name. He had always just been there. He sold balloons on a street corner in Washington, D.C., mostly at night. In the snow and rain and on windy days he stood there under his splotches of color, holding onto them, keeping them close to the earth. He didn’t talk much and never asked you if you wanted one. He just stood there like he was reminding you of something even he couldn't remember well enough to put into words. Tall and black, white haired and alone, the man belonged on the corner. During the day when he was often absent, the corner looked bleak and empty – crying out for his presence and his colors. The corner lived only at night. You weren't aware of it until there was nothing there to look at or to look for when you passed by. And now, the man comes no more to the corner. Someone said he died over the holidays. But when I come to the corner, he's still there. I remember. I see and know he still waits for someone to buy his balloons.

And I wonder if there's any place that my presence fills up and makes whole, or whether I move so fast that there is no space that is touched so intimately and thoroughly by me that it is truly mine. And you-where's your space?”