Life Reverberating Off of Life
There are stories in the city this rainy morning.
The rain that fell through the open window onto the kitchen floor and is cleaned up with a paper towel under the ball of a left foot with chipped crimson nail polish on it.
A person in a beige trench coat who stops, bends down, picks a large butterfly-ish critter up of the sidewalk and places it on the side of a building.
The woman who is greeting the slow trickle of people coming to vote for the school budget.
A kid in a pink raincoat with yellow dinosaurs who waves to a stranger with chipped crimson nail polish walking past.
The two friends working next to each other who read the same email last night and now wear, I Voted Today!, stickers over their chests.
A man and woman who stop, tilt their heads, squint their eyes, and look at the critter on the side of the building.
These stories in the city this rainy morning. They bump into each other, change each other; in ways known, but often not. The person in the beige trench coat will never know that a man and a woman stopped their morning to tilt their heads, squint their eyes, and look at the butterfly-ish critter on the side of a building.
Life reverberates off life. Nothing happens in isolation, does it?
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