This post is part of the Secret Messages Project. Every day for thirty days, I’ll leave my words in places where they might be found — or might never be found at all. I hope you’ll join me.
There’s a little walking trail downtown, one that runs a parallel to the train tracks where they cut the city in two.
Earlier this week, in the icy drizzle, I walked there, past a few men in suits hurrying to work. Past the homeless man on the bench with his rolling suitcase.
Everybody here has impossible things to do.
I walked up to the fence, fingering a stack of index cards in my pocket, and I pressed my face against the wires, waiting to see a train come through. But the air was silent — no rumbling wheels, no long slow whistle.
Some days we all need a reminder that momentum is possible, that change really does happen, that someone out there, somewhere, is moving forward, doing something wild and beautiful and good.
So I clipped the cards to the fence and kept walking: