The local raccoons think that my purpose is to feed
them birdseed. Really, my purpose is to
drive to work slowly in the morning and anger everyone in a hurry behind
me.
We all have a purpose.
Some of us slow down with ours.
I like the raccoons because they don’t run away when
I step outside and talk to them. “What’s
with the burglar costumes?” I asked. “And
all those claws?” The raccoons usually
appear as a whole family, threading up through the sage and tall grass single file—the
little ones a bit behind at the end of the line. The raccoons seem harmless enough but I
always keep in the back of my mind that biologists have documented white-tailed
deer eating baby songbirds when they chance upon them in a nest.
--Mitchell
Hegman
Some would look at the color and shape of clouds and see either forthcoming rain or a rainbow.
ReplyDeleteSome would be confronted by a closed door and imagine beyond it either the Pearly Gates or a bogeyman.
While there is no telling what a person or a situation will really turn out to be, I nevertheless wonder at what point exuberance turns into trepidation, hope into fear, and naiveté into cynicism.
Exactly when and what manner of little deaths occur to alter our perceptions or cause us to freeze in hesitation? Should we keep ourselves from smelling the roses simply because there are thorns?
A possible blog of your own here?
DeleteIf I get enough encouragement and inspiration why not Mitchell Hegman? :)
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