I love the mysterious, little stones that strangers and children leave on benches, mailboxes, porches. Words like Love, Believe, Courage, Hope are written on them. Just reminders, I suppose, in case we lose our way.
Much is wrong with the world we live in. A blind person can probably see that.
My grandchildren are growing up in a culture that has little or no respect for people, animals, or environment.
I guess I could fill my own thoughts with chaos that would keep my muscles taut. But that seems pointless. Instead, I opt to figure out what I can change and not change.
So many rabbits I could chase here, but I won’t.
I rub a red rock I find on a bench with kindness written on it. What I think I see is a bit of hope for our children, our country, our world. I hope that’s what it is.
There’s no future in the past, so I don’t go there much. Pretty much a dead end unless I’m writing a memory, looking for a pattern, and seeking answers to the question "Why?"
I live in the present for the most part. That’s what works for me.
I might watch an ant meander across a page, walk across verbs and nouns, then move back into white space before heading for the ditch of the book.
And I’m still believing you can be the kind of person you want to be. I’m not sure that everyone can be president (that’s a stretch), but I believe you can be the kind of person you want to be.
Call me foolish, but my old eyes keep going to the cardinal singing among the flowers of the crepe myrtle, and blue is still in the sky. I’m casting my vote with them.
If I’m allowed to live a few more years, I hope to stay in the present, love God, and be awake to those around me. (I don’t want to grow brittle, thorny, and hard.) Also, a cup of good tea would be nice. That, and an in-depth conversation with an eight-year-old. They like painted rocks, too.
If you like, join me in not being afraid, keeping watch, and standing on the promises of God. That’s what has always served me quite well.
Thank you for taking the time to share or comment. I’m beyond grateful.
Crepe myrtle in Conway, Arkansas, photographed by Laura (Genie) Garrett, August 2019.