I’m getting tired of the orange pylons that we have along every thoroughfare. The construction in my city seems like it has been going on forever. Pylons that were shiny and orange are now even less appealing, they’ve been rained on and snowed on and run over too.
In my attempts to circumvent some of the busier, traffic-jammed roads on the way to work each day, I drove a different route this morning. A familiar route, through a part of town where I used to live a decade ago.
I could see the passing of time, the renovations up and down the street. I saw the large For Sale sign on the house on a corner saying, “legal basement suite”, which in other words meant, ‘more money required’.
I wove through a community that held many memories, of walking with my children when they clung to my hands. And then later of them being dragged for a family walk as they walked on the other side of the street pretending not to know me.
As I wove my way into the area on the more 'affluent' side of the street, I proceeded through two school zones, slowing for the speed bumps and watching for excited little children on their way to school.
 |
| Crossing the Street Between the Pylons |
Then a smile spread across my face, I couldn’t help it when I saw him. A mentally challenged man I used to see each morning more than a decade ago, I'll call him Tommy for this writing. He could be in his thirties or forties by now. Hard to tell with those amongst us who live happily. He cautiously made his way across the icy sidewalks oblivious of the clear sidewalks on the other side of the street. I was reminded of how content he looked each morning in his tidy clothes and brushed back hair when I used to see him each morning.
We all have orange pylons in our lives, I wonder how Tommy deals with his?
How often do we forget to acknowledge the simple things? The people who teach us just by being on the sidelines of our day?
