The sun was beginning to make its way below the Rocky Mountains in the foothills of Boulder.  I had just helped an incredible, old farmer dig out an irrigation ditch on his plot of land, so I was a bit dusted.  My trusty turf shoes accompanied some old pants, a ratty, holey, gray, long-sleeved shirt, and a stocking cap was atop my head. A razor hasn't seen this face for some time, and some sweaty, dusty, locks found their way out from beneath my cap.  During the dig, the end of a pitchfork, used to get the leaves out of the ditch, had fallen off, and in my attempt to put it back on, it had slipped, so there was a bit of blood on my hand from a cut on my finger.

After the completion of the work on the ditch I made my way to Pearl Street, in downtown Boulder, to get a beer with a buddy.  He was running some errands, so I had a bit of time.  Hunger began to take over, so I went to the nearest pizza place for a slice of cheese pizza.  I got the slice, and took a seat on a park bench to people watch and enjoy the evening.  To my right was a disheveled man playing what looked to be a Flutaphone, the music device you have to had to learn to play in fifth grade.  Well, he had one of those.  He must have been working on one note, for there was a struggle with it, but it wasn't all that bad, and the backpack to his left looked like it was all he had.

My eyes had wandered right, but then I caught a glimpse of a woman closing in on me from the left.  I was convinced for a moment that she had a question, until I noticed the dollar in her hand.

"Take this, Son, and take care of yourself," the later-yeared woman told me, as she put the dollar in my hand.

"Thank you, Ma'am, but it's not necessary," I said stunned, never being on the receiving end of a donated dollar on the streets, and tried to give it back.

"No, no, no, I insist," she said with a kind voice and outstretched palms trying to reassure me.

I tried to give the dollar back, but she turned away, and vanished amongst the people.

I looked down at the dollar, and had to smirk, for I am not currently homeless, nor need the dollar, but in my current state, probably looked the part.  I was amazed at such a random act of generosity, compassion and kindness, and though she may never read this, I truly thank her, and those like her.  There are some incredible people in this world, that is for sure, and I knew I had to pay it forward.

I finished my slice of pizza, took one last glance around, and walked over to the guy playing the Flutaphone.

"Here you go, Man," I said as I dropped the dollar in his hat, "and take care of yourself."

"Thank you very much, Brother, thank you," he said with a smile before he went back to playing.

"You're welcome.  Be well," I said, and then drifted down the street.