Ad hominem

He pulls rabbits out of his pockets and implores me to do the same. His white hair and mustache belie the brightness of his blue eyes. His eyes fix mine, not with decorum but with glee - a buoyant liveliness fascinated by all that surrounds him. A white cape ensconces his person and billows behind him as he gallops. I imagine that every patient in the entire hospital knows his name and has had visions of him in their sleep. They have seen him from around the corridor. From their beds. He comes to them and saves them with a kind word in their own language. Occasionally he pirouettes and performs miracles at their bedside, but not this time. This time he merely contents them with the joy of being alive, of being human still, and vanishes with a flurry of giggles.