They are fixing a small stretch of sidewalk not far from my apartment.
It’s your plain old, typical construction site – hot orange cones, cross-hatches of rebar, industrial steel fencing, upturned gravel. Later, there would probably be jackhammers. Maybe an excavator.
And my reaction as I walked by was your plain old, typical reaction: “Well, that’s an eyesore.”
I would have kept on walking had I not noticed this odd bit of color off in the corner of the construction site.
Over on the far edge, between two sections of steel fence, someone had stuck a small bouquet of orange, yellow, and red artificial daisies.
They weren’t memorializing anyone or anything. They weren’t big or attention-grabbing. They were just a little bundle of inexpensive cloth and plastic flowers.
And they were so small compared to the whole construction site, so easy to miss. But they were still there.
So this must be love, I thought as I looked at the daisies. Sticking our flowers in the upturned gravel even though jackhammers and excavators may come. Even though no one may ever see them. Or know that we were the ones who put them there.
Maybe it’s love of construction sites or sidewalks, but surely it’s love of this world. And all the so easy to miss things in the corners of it.
Don’t forget this, I said to myself as I kept going down the sidewalk. Don’t forget the corners and the edges. And don’t forget that love is never a plain old, typical way to react to the world.