Metaphors

I have been to the coffee shop on the Zocalo so many times that I am now considered a regular and the waiters merely confirm my order. Sitting in my front-row seat with a view to the Zocalo, tonight I was approached by a man with a book of poetry and a series of photos he was offering for a donation.

He explained that the photos and the journey he is on to take the photos is part of a huge puzzle. He said this is a metaphor for life. He also said the photo I selected was a metaphor for life. It depicts horses climbing a spiral and ascending to become pegasus. He said it means we all need to rise from the dust and aspire to be or do something.

I realize that this man could say that the latte I am drinking is a metaphor for being, and I am dazzled for a moment when he offers to read one of the poems from the book he carries.

The money I have in my pocket is for medicine to stop me from scratching my mosquito-bitten legs, but I want to help out with the journey. And, so I buy a photo, opening the flood gates to others selling their wares. Itching my tormented legs is probably another metaphor for life — my life.