I know I usually write poetry. At least I think I do, but there are people who think if you don’t have ten thousand followers you don’t know how to write. Poetry. Or prose. Or much of anything. Maybe that’s true. But today in all the madness, in the sudden of fear that can surprise me, in the fitting of latex gloves on my hand for the grocery cart and the maybe of wearing a mask. In the social distancing and the shuttered hiking trails, I drove across Los Angeles on an almost empty freeway and fell in love with my hometown. In the perfect blue sky and the stream of billowing clouds. I fell in love with the smell of the trees and the taste of fresh-made churros. When I stopped to take some pictures, I’d actually forgotten about covid, and washing hands, equipment and shortages, and the unknown that is changing our everyday world. Just for the moment, there was nothing else but where I was. It felt so wonderfully good.
What a gift.
On the drive back over the hill toward the west side of LA, I saw a string of cardboard letters on an overpass bridge. Got off the next exit to take a picture of it.
My words aren’t a poem. And Maybe I don’t know how to write really. But this picture is a poem. That should make it okay.
Laura B – Los Angeles
Hey SLAYER! I’ve started a new series of posts called SLAY IT FORWARD. Each post is a submission from you of an act of kindness you have received or have witnessed that has inspired you. Let’s remind each other what’s important during this time and spread kindness… SLAY IT FORWARD.
To submit your own SLAY IT FORWARD story email me at firstname.lastname@example.org