Around six years ago, before the mudslide struck Montecito, a disheveled, perhaps homeless man, who nonetheless seemed awakened (as in self-actualized, not woke), used to sit every afternoon along the trail off Olive Mill Road between Casa Dorinda and my back garden.
He would sit for hours reading The New York Times cover-to-cover and occasionally scribble a note directly onto the newsprint.
One day, he left the newspaper behind. So I sat upon his preferred bench and perused his annotations.
My favorite was the one pictured above, which I ripped out, folded and placed into my pocket.
It was later taken, along with many other personal possessions, by the debris flow.
Fortunately, I had photographed it.
The writing appears to be a personal reflection and recollection of an encounter with a homeless man who had a habit of reading and annotating The New York Times. The author shares a specific annotation that stood out to them and how it was lost during a mudslide that also took away many of their belongings. They express gratitude for having a photograph of the annotation.
In terms of the writing style, it reads like a personal essay or memoir, with a conversational tone and occasional parenthetical remarks. The author uses vivid language to describe the man's appearance and habits, and adds a touch of humor by clarifying the meaning of "awakened". The inclusion of the photograph adds a visual element to the story and helps to convey the significance of the annotation to the author. Overall, the piece is engaging and evocative, and invites the reader to reflect on the unexpected connections we can make with strangers.