Our Experts

The Wandering Angel

In the Spring of 1992, my friend Debbie and I were driving home after an exhilarating afternoon jog along the intracoastal waterway in West Palm Beach, Florida. We shared stories and laughter as Debbie drove the normal route home. As usual, we passed through an older, somewhat industrial area just on the other side of the railroad tracks.

As Debbie slowed down for the railroad crossing, my head turned almost involuntarily to my right and I saw a “hobo” walking toward us along the railroad tracks. He was less than thirty feet away, walking leisurely. He wore a cap, and over his left shoulder he carried a red sack that swayed to and fro with each step. For some reason, I was mesmerized by him. I just stared as he slowly approached us. Although I squinted to see his face, he was looking down at his feet as he walked, and I could barely make out the line of his left cheek.

No words passed between Debbie and me, but I realized that she must have been watching him, too. She had stopped the car. As he continued walking toward us, my eyes never left the hobo. His stride was animated. His clothing, right down to that bright red sack, was almost like a costume. He could have been a character right out of a play. He was the perfect hobo.

Despite the colorful image he made, it wasn’t so much his appearance that intrigued me. It was more the way I felt as I watched him. There was wonder in my heart, a kind of sweet curiosity. I was delighted and joyful, feeling a sense of expectation, like awakening on Christmas morning as a child. I had entered a space of timelessness. My whole being seemed to pause for a moment, my awareness fully focused on the hobo.

I don’t know exactly how long I watched him, but when the hobo was within ten yards of our car, he suddenly lifted his head. I saw his face, his eyes, and they were lit up as if someone had aimed a bright spotlight on him. His clear, blue eyes blazed lovingly into mine. My body felt light, and a rush of energy ran like chills up my spine.

As he came in line with the front of our car, my head turned slowly to follow him. He glanced at both Debbie and me, with his face still shining, and tugged gently at the brim of his black cap, nodding slightly as if to say, “Greetings.” It felt like a blessing to me.

I nodded back to him and smiled, watching as he continued walking down the railroad tracks away from us. I observed while he became a small spot on the horizon, moving farther away until…poof, he disappeared.

At that moment, Debbie and I turned to each other and simultaneously said, “That was an angel!” We drove the rest of the way home in silence, as if talking might disturb the sanctity of the miracle we had just shared.

Months later, when I told a friend about the experience, he asked me how I knew that the hobo was an angel. I simply answered, “He was to me.” Of that, I will always be certain.

by K. Bailey | Email me if you questions or comments | Back to List of Articles