Pennies are everywhere. In trails along the sidewalk,scattered all around the city in a multitude as plenty as the pigeons. I feel that familiar impulse to pick up every single one, every single time.
Waiting for the train, I see the shiny copper singing to me like the Pied Piper of Hamelin to grab it. Yet this one is on the rough wood two train tracks away, and a huge leap down. Yet I feel that impulse to grab it. I feel like I want it so badly, I’d jump risking life and limb for it.
For a penny?
These days a penny is basically useless most people say. I remember quite well the days when a penny meant something, where it was worth something.
Why the impulse to save a penny? I ask myself.
Maybe I relate to the penny these days. My feelings about my usefulness have been in major decline. And this penny feels like it’ll save that feeling somehow.
Or maybe I feel that the pursuit of intellect goes too fast, to the point where we lose the soul of the idea and move forward without a thought of where we came from.
Or maybe I just have gotten out of control with my obsession with shiny shimmery things.
Maybe I just need a nap.
Pennies are everywhere. I see one on the sidewalk and I pick it up. I look at it for a moment; feel its cold metal on my warm palm. I think about how often I have missed pennies and just kept walking.
How many other signs have I glossed over while lost in my mind?