White Flower

I was carrying a nicely labelled shopping bag out of the stretch of doors exiting the large, busy mall. It was raining but my car was only forty feet away. Inside the smart shop's logo bag, in my hand, its tidy handles for easy-carry, lay in tissue paper, a huge white lily to add to the fake greenery atop my white grand piano. I was pleased. It was the perfect thing to finish off the décor.  As I walked in the rain, I saw a loosely organized string of people, straggling along the wet pavement heading toward the mall entrance. I paused to stare. The collection of people, their skin all of one colour about the same as mine, had their heads covered completely: women with tight floral scarves, the men and boys with their black toques pulled low and collars turned up. Not really odd for this time of year, but that all of the people were walking close together did seem odd.  Small children of varying ages walked quietly, their little hands in their parents'. No one was smiling, not even the children. Their clothing was clutched closely against the dampness of our West Coast January weather. The group was led by a big man who seemed confident in their destination, but protective in a way, also.  I waited before opening my car door, continuing to gaze. A few cars about the sparsely parked lot at the side of the mall, had lights on with persons inside. They appeared to be watching and waiting. It was then, I realized what this scene was. I was looking at The Refugees who were newly arrived in our country, our neighbourhood. The shock of my discovery to see in real life, what had been in the national news so vividly, was jarring. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was seeing and I was stunned.There were no smiling, relieved faces as previously seen, arriving in airports, welcoming crowds cheering in the background. No. These folks were walking in the realities of their lives in a new place, a strange country where not everyone was a "nice Canadian". They did not have cars or jobs or their own homes or culture. That was what they had to leave behind to come here, to hope that they could restore peace to their families and find a way to continue somehow. I wanted to rush over and tell them that I understood and cared. I wanted to say welcome.  But they passed by on their quest whatever it was, and I got into my red sports car and took my white flower home.