Friday, when I was in one of my favorite neighborhoods on a chocolate hunt, I noticed what I thought was a small plaza with unmatched hand painted tile and walked over to investigate. At the time, I also thought I was closer to the library than I was and so I assumed they'd been done as some sort of children's summer art project until I looked closer, or more accurately, until I actually looked at them.
It was a bus stop, not a plaza. The tiles had been painted by the families that lived in the area and contributed to add to the communal area. Each family that participated left creative breadcrumbs and a piece of themselves, some of them even noting which of the "flower" streets they called home. They made me smile, reminded me what have to give, and how small things can change how we see ourselves.
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