I saw them grouped up a little way away from me.

I realized that I had walked right by them once, without seeing them.

I slowed my pace and eased in near their group.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell they were all looking intently at something.

And, as I got closer, I realized they weren’t saying anything, actually.

What they were looking at was too much for words.

I couldn’t get in close enough for a bit to see what they were looking at, so I contented myself with them and their various attributes.

I saw one, a farmer, to be sure, by his stained clothing and work hardened, thick hands.

I saw his face softened and, at the corner of his eye, a little moisture.

I saw another, evidently a businessman of some type.  His posture was a little stiff and pensive, but I could tell he was moved by what he saw.

I saw a fellow there from the service, definitely soldier, to be sure.  I saw his pained expression; he seemed more moved than the rest for some reason.  It looked like he was trying to hide his emotions, but I could see them breaking out all over him.  I saw supreme remorse, sadness, and, if I looked closely, amazement.

I saw ladies there.

I saw a careworn mother, little child in tow.  I saw how gently she reached down and lifted her little one so he could see what she saw.

I saw a young maiden, still untouched by sorrow, or a life of responsibility.  I saw her eagerness; her vibrancy of life.  I saw how she took in the scene before her, and how though she came with zest for life, she left with quiet maturity.

I saw a factory worker, his family standing just a little back from him, in respectful deference to him; willing that he should have the time he needed.  I saw as he looked on, cataloguing each thing he saw, and I saw his eyes light up with that, “I knew it was true, I knew it was true!,” moment.

I saw folks I was amazed to see.

The town bum, for instance.  I never could figure out why folks called him a bum, though.  He always seemed nice enough to me, just a little eccentric was all.

And I saw her.  Her clothing told of her occupation.  A life of forced servitude to any man who would pay her master for her services. 

She looked so sad.  And I, looking on at her, felt her sadness descend upon myself as a burden almost too heavy to bear.  I knew she was trapped in her place in time; I knew what folks said about her.  I knew the scorn she lived with, the terrible plight that was her lot to have been captured as she was and indentured to the man who controlled her every minute.

But then I saw her visage change. 

She had seen something, I could tell.  And in a movement almost too quick to tell, she fell to her knees, sobbing and penitent. 

But somehow, her sobs weren’t the end, I could tell.  Because as I watched, her tears changed to tears of joy, joy lining out the path before her, until her life merged with it completely.

It was then the crowd parted a bit, and I saw what they were looking at.

Just a glimpse was all, but as I beheld them, I, too, felt the difference.

For there, before us all, and claimed by all, were two feet, each with a gaping wound, still freshly bleeding.