Friday's walk was different from previous walks. I tried to focus my prayers on the homes and people within the buildings I passed, but instead odd, quiet details stood out: a whimsical doorstep, a peace garden, and a business sign which included a yin/yang symbol as well as the word "namaste" while advertising the hope of physical well-being through body massage.
There was the body of a Tiger Swallowtail. There was an accumulation of cigarette butts at the confluence of two streets. I stopped to adjust Buc's harness, and just barely caught the last of a grey fox snake's tail disappearing beneath an overgrown bush.
I almost ignored a pirate flag staked at the foot of a mailbox until I realized the unlikelihood of having seen it. Small moments of special experience seemed to be the point of this day's walk.
In the week since, suicide has become a theme. First at a U2 concert with the song Stuck in a Moment dedicated to Amy Whinehouse, then later with news of another person, less well-known, but no less significant, who chose to end her life. Was it the small things that made these deaths seem so significant this week? Was it the reminder that the dead don't get to place pirate flags as yard decorations? Was it sorrow that peace gardens, garden gnomes and alternative healing don't always provide the balm they promise? Walking River City this week, I became more sensitive to the uniqueness of each moment, of the miracles hidden in the mundane, of the possible preciousness of each minute detail I may miss along the way.
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