Bag on a Telephone Pole

The rain came quick and cold this morning.

Which meant that my morning walk was fast. Which meant that I didn’t notice the bag hanging on the telephone pole.

The telephone pole is across the dirt road from my house. I can see it out my front door.

After drying off and warming up, I went to put something in the closet by the front door. And that’s when I saw something red hanging at eye-level on the telephone pole.

It was a bag. The kind that stuffs itself down into another bag about the size of a toddler’s fist. And it was my bag.

My mother gave it to me. I loved it, and used it weekly. And I hadn’t even known I had lost it.

But I had. And someone had found it. I don’t know who, it could have been anyone. But this person had hung it at eye-level on the telephone pole so it could be found again.

I went out into the rain, plucked the bag from the telephone pole, and went back inside, feeling grateful.

Grateful for the sweet soul who took a moment to put this lost item in a place where it could be found. Grateful for her or him reminding me on this cold and rainy day that people like that are out in the world. And grateful for the awareness that any one of us could be them.

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