I saw a heart carved into the sidewalk on my walk to work yesterday and I took it with me. Maybe you could too.
Imbedded in concrete, the heart got me thinking: portrait or pothole? Human-made or divine?
Could snow have melted, sunk into a soft part of the concrete, and then, as it froze, spread out in a perfect symbol of love? Or, did some cheeky sprite carve it there before the concrete settled and I only noticed it now?
The question nagged at me throughout the day. I almost called some concrete pourers I know to ask their opinion, but I felt like the answer might be obvious to everyone but me.
Eventually I decided that it really didn’t matter how that heart came to be, just that it is.
Same goes for the heart I found carved into the hard wood floor in my dining room. It showed up one day years ago and no one admitted to that particular artwork. A recent floor resurfacing project smoothed it away, but I’m half expecting it to pop back up some morning when our old house thinks someone in it needs a little extra love.
Hearts abound in this old, scary world, almost as much as the love they represent.
Even during troubling times, we can take heart in that.