free

This guy pops up time and time again in my sketchbooks. Cane hat, bad hair, over-bite, slack, slumped, Striped or flannel shirt buttoned to the top. Sometimes rocks a bolo tie. He’s even turned up with gold teeth. Speaking in pigeon-english, he recites the spiritual in my head—

On my knees when the light pass’d by,
I thank God I’m free at last,
Thought my soul would rise and fly,
I thank God I’m free at last,
Some of these mornings, bright and fair,
I thank God I’m free at last,
Goin’ meet King Jesus in the air,
I thank God I’m free at last!

I think he is a simple being, with nothing but freedom. No ego. No past. No anxiety. Just a little love and a song to sing in my head.

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