Sunday, June 17, 2012

The Fork of the Spoon

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.

Actually there was a spoon on the sidewalk as I was bike riding to Yogurt Mill and I really wanted to pick it up.
But didn't. I left it for another day. Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever be back.
That's the thing. I feel compelled to pick up things that have been left behind. Silly, useless, cast-off things. Whatever is left behind in the wrong place. So does my daughter. And my husband.I suppose it's hereditary. We've picked up Raider's sweatshirts, towels, basketballs, scarves, cell-phones, a worn out picket fence, a couple cats, a wallet with a thousand dollars cash in it.

That spoon is probably still sitting on the sidewalk. I have plenty of spoons, but you can always use more spoons, right? But it's dark now. I'll be leaving it there. But not without overthinking it.

That has made all the difference.

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