the Spanish Moss on Lake Careen Way

I’m cranky and the car in front of me isn’t helping.  They are moving slow, and I’m sure it’s on purpose.  Despite my annoyance I’m careful to never tailgate people; I don’t like road rage in myself or in others.  I like to ask myself: what if they’re sick? What if someone in their lives is sick? What are the circumstances in their life?  Are they in pain?

Even if they are none of these things, who am I to dictate how other people drive?

I keep a good distance but I remain annoyed.  I look over to my right and there’s a man on a bicycle.  He’s dressed in dark khaki shorts and a black and white striped top.  It looks like he might even be wearing sandals on this (relatively) chilly Florida day.  I see him reach for dangling Spanish moss from the trees he’s passing under.  As he flies by me he lets it dance in the wind from his hand in a childlike manner.

I watch him eventually discard it, but this moment quiets me.  It quiets my irritation, and makes me long to be surrounded by people who look at life with wonder.

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