Sometimes you just find art. I walked into the kitchen and found this display of dishes in the drying rack. My daughter had done the dishes the night before. Her arrangement was different from the way I would have arranged the dishes to dry. There was something attractive about the soft light on the blue and translucent plastic; also about the way the objects in the rack seem to be at once floating and radiating outward. There is a dynamism that keeps the eye interested. The contrast of the red lid gives the eye a point of interest, while being the exception that emphasizes the blues and whites.
Yesterday my two daughters were at Starbuck’s. They saw a bicycle parked outside. In front of the bike was a sign:
HOMELESS. PLEASE HELP IN ANY WAY YOU CAN.
My younger daughter asked her sister for some money to buy a croissant. Then she asked the barista to borrow a Sharpie. She wrote “For you” on the fancy little bag that the croissant came in. Then she went outside and tucked the bag behind the sign. They sat and watched through the store window. When the man returned, he found the bag. They watched as he found the bag and its contents. He seemed amazed and really appreciative. Then he came into the Starbuck’s and looked around. Finally he sat down and ate his croissant. When she told me about it later, my daughter felt really happy.
It was a small act of kindness, but the kind that really makes someone’s day. We need more of these every day!
Unreal sculptures made out of wire by sculptor Robin Wight in th UK …
This is a sequel to “She Chooses Trust” (FromUnderThePages 4/9/2014) and “Open Your Eyes, Kitty!” (Writewireless 5/25/2014). A foray into magical realism and fun. Enjoy!
This is a sequel to “Open Your Eyes, Kitty!”, published on May 25, 2014 on Writewireless. It is basically a true story. Only the names and some of the details have been changed to protect the feral—and the domesticated as well.
When I heard the knock on my door, I thought it was someone else—wandering friends who show up occasionally. When I looked through the peep-hole, it could have been Jehovah’s Witnesses. Two ladies, casually dressed, on the other side of middle age. I opened the door. One had white, somewhat tousled hair, and was holding a long cage with a bowl of food at one end. Her face was soft and malleable and looked forgiving. Her companion was thin, with streaky gray hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.
Her voice was strident, and clung to the high registers like the nervous claws of an excited feline, ready…
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