Perfect Fit

Live your life, do your work, then take your hat. - Thoreau

Like a roaring lion.

A brisk, March wind blew it off of his innocent, young head endowed with thick, jet-black, wavy hair.

Not playing fair.

Just as he was crossing the street.

It was the start of a long journey.

Tumbling and rolling.

Side to side.

Forwards and backwards.

Up and down.

Carried here and there.

Occasionally stopping to catch its breath.

Getting caught up in this or that.

So went the life of the hat.

Different folks would occasionally pick it up and try it on.

It never quite fit though.

There was the cook and the car salesman.

The soldier and the cop.

The gang member on the block.

And how 'bout the judge?

Even a pimp and a drug dealer.

Also the politician.

Not to mention the priest and the construction worker.

Even the banker had worn it for a while.

Never bringing any of them a lasting smile.

And so he went about his life.

Often thinking about what became of that hat.

He found it many years later by chance.

Crossing that same street.

At the exact same spot.

Both of them now barely recognizable compared to that windy day of so long ago.

He bent down and picked it up as a tear trickled down his aged cheek.

Brushing off the dirt with his arthritic fingers.

Trying to take the creases out.

Hoping to straighten it out.

He smiled and put it on his now balding head.

Thinking that both he and the hat still looked good.

Remembering what it meant.

Everything it had sent.

All that was spent.

It still fit ...

... perfectly ...

Author's Note

“Most men appear never to have considered what a house is, and are actually though needlessly poor all their lives because they think that they must have such a one as their neighbors have. As if one were to wear any sort of coat which the tailor might cut out for him, or gradually leaving off palm-leaf hat or cap of woodchuck skin, complain of hard times because he could not afford to buy him a crown! It is possible to invent a house still more convenient and luxurious than we have, which yet all would admit that man could not afford to pay for. Shall we always study to obtain more of these things, and not sometimes be content with less?” - Thoreau