I stepped out of the office to buy my usual mid-morning coffee. Emerging from the sombre marbled foyer I was kissed by an *effulgent Spring morning. Melbourne on a Spring morning and my heart joined with the Collins St chorale, singing in the sunshine.

I strode past a doorway recess and the internal warble stilled. A man in traditional Collins St double-breasted grey stood just off the street with his phone clasped to his head. A cigarette burned almost to the filter was gripped between the fingers of his other hand. His head was lowered and he was sobbing, almost convulsed in lament. The brilliance of the day was immediately dulled and I slowed with uncertainty, unsure of how to respond.

A part of me wanted to weep with him, another part wanted to ply him with tissues and reassure. A cacophony of impulses hit me simultaneously. Confounded and reluctant to gawk, or worse interfere, I resumed my coffee bound trek. A small part of me has stayed with him since, trusting him to look after himself. We don’t know our own inner resources until we need to draw on them, his expression of emotion spilled into the street in a powerful way. Strength was evident.

There is such sadness in the world. There’s no immunity in commerce-central, downtown Collins St. “We’re all wounded. We carry our wounds around with us through life and eventually they kill us. Things happen that leave a mark in space, in time. In us. ” Rachel Griffiths as Brenda Chenowith: Six Feet Under

Few of us are strong enough to share our ordeals so openly, lamenting our sorrow, wracked with uninhibited distress on the phone while smoking in a Collins St doorway. Some of us have no choice.

*ef⋅ful⋅gent [i-fuhl-juh nt, i-foo l-] –adjective shining forth brilliantly; radiant. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/effulgent
What a word, what a morning.