Meaning, Reflection and Spilt Coffee
It was just the dregs in the bottom of a small Styrofoam cup that splashed across the graph for the report I was editing and a memo about parking arrangements on heavy snow days. I reprint the graph. The memo was headed to the trash when I noticed the coffee stains highlighted a selection of words and letters that spelled out, "where is a park for your sin."
Pausing, the memo half crumpled in hand poised above the circular file waiting its ultimate release. Was it trying to make a last plea? Is the divine or the beast speaking to me? Does park mean repository or a pleasant glade a place to relax, to picnic and reflect? I do not know the answer. I hear the buzz-thunk of the printer completing the graph. I release the memo, pick up my graph and go back to editing. Moments or minutes later, something distracts my concentration. I glance at the circular recycle bin, the memo lies tilting down towards the shadows facing mostly away from me. My mind immediately reads the first line, "This memo is in regards to the parking..." I look at my watch and go back to work.
Is there meaning in the small things?
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