I saw him once. A long time ago. A man with curly hair, frozen in stone. He fought a lion that stretched in a back bend.
Samson was raw strength carved in stone. I couldn’t forget him. Of all the statues, he was the one I remembered through my life. Monumental. On a pedestal.
He was still on the pedestal when I saw him again. Thirty-eight years older. Samson still charmed me.