I do spend a lot of my walking time looking down, as an accident some years ago put me in a wheelchair for almost a year, so I am extra careful to avoid tripping and falling. ( I do look up and around, of course, but I try not to be moving forward when I do so.) Looking down offers a different perspective on the world. There is much to notice down there. Sidewalk cracks and fallen blossoms become nature’s Jackson Pollacks. Discarded objects tell tales of earlier passers-by. And there are pennies.
I used to pick up the pennies I’d spot on the street—but under strict rules. If they were heads up, they were mine. Tails, I would leave them for someone else. Sharing the luck equitably, I figured. As a child I would supplement my allowance by checking the ground around parking meters. Very lucrative in those days, when your allowance was 50 cents.)
So today, I walk along, masked and gloved, and as I spot the pennies, I regretfully pass them by. I don’t want to touch anything outside my home, even gloved, these days. It saddens me a bit, passing up the luck. My world seemed so much wider in those long ago 50 cents allowance days, when finding a few pennies, a nickel, and wow, a dime, could open up endless possibilities of future purchases, or maybe even savings.
After I got home yesterday, I dug into my purse and found a few pennies lurking there. I have decided to scatter them on my next walk, to try to bring back the feeling of the wider world of possibilities, to share the luck once again.
I love this collage painting by Dina Charara, scattering Pixie Dust. Art Heals.
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