I just walked down to the junction for provisions. I put a $20.00 bill in my pocket and a credit card. I usually take a five or ten, but it always seems to cost more than I expect as I forget I am walking, and I buy too much, and I don't like to use a credit card for a small amount.
I get there and realize I have lost the twenty. I feel pretty upset about it, and try and visualize when I must have put my hand in my pocket and then flopped it carelessly back out. I buy what I need with the credit card, glad that I have it, and then, walk carefully back, retracing my route. I know the odds are against my finding it, but who knows? Maybe it is caught somewhere. If it isn't where it can be found, it is gone. What is it to know you were once worthy of exchange, and now, you are a soft discard, melting back into the elements? I suppose we'll all find out.
What I notice is that I usually walk looking up at the sky and the tops of the trees. Now, I am carrying a heavy load, and I am looking down and all around, like a mine sweeper trying to find the cash. The good news is that I am focused, and I am aware of how many colors of green there are this time of year, and browns, and daffodils, and I see that it is hard to walk, looking so hard, trying to find something. How much better it was on Sunday when the blossoms blew into my uplifted face. Oh, not better, necessarily, but more comfortable for my neck and shoulder.
I don't find the money. It is gone, or preferably found, and it was worth the lesson in attention, focus, the uselessness of trying, and letting go.
I'm glad it wasn't my only twenty. The loss won't affect my quality of life, and yet, it did pull me along a different path, one spread with four magnolia petals and a more astute attention to what I pass.