he came in from the street

He was carrying his boxes of stones and wood with him, and asked if I could look at his new work for a little while. He's an artist, wandering the roads, carving bits of wood and pieces of stone, making up stories to go with them, trying to find his way. He has a daughter, almost 3, given up for adoption by her mother. He shows me her photos--she seems happy, well cared for, loved. She is feeding ducks. She is running, a silly grin on her face. "I love her so much, " he says. Sometimes it tears his heart out.
The carved stones have figures flowing into each other: a mother, a bird, a rattlesnake, a tree. Everything is connected. He's been spending a lot of time in the woods of late, and then a lot of time on the town streets. Up north the city has been rousting the homeless. I tell him of a recent court decision, which said the guy who was arrested for sleeping on the street should not have been charged with anything. The guy had claimed a necessity defence: he had to sleep; he had nowhere to go. Cool! says my artist friend. He's going north to test the waters.