Last night, it got a little later than usual before I had time to take a walk. Because I was alone and it would be twilight before I got back home, I decided to take the “safe” route and walk down Rosewood Lane, around Melody Lane, and then wind my way around Runestone Heights before I climbed the hill back up to the top of Nissen Street. It’s a familiar, safe walk in my neighborly ‘hood.
For the past three summers, I’ve admired one beauty-loving Melody Lane homeowner who has planted flowers all along the street edge of her property, across the road from Lake Victoria—about one hundred feet or so of colorful blooms. When I pass by, it almost feels like I’m walking along a hedge of wild flowers. Once last summer, the lady was out watering, and I had a chance to tell her what a joy it was to walk down the road next to those beautiful flowers.
Last night as I walked by, it was already getting dark, but I noticed something new. A small wooden sign, hand-written in black magic marker, read, “You are welcome to pick a bouquet for your enjoyment. Add several hosta leaves from the the driveway for accents.” And underneath the sign was a pair of blue scissors, hanging on a nail.
I don’t know why, but that little sign with its generous invitation, its neighborly sharing, just touched my heart. I guess because most of the signs along walking paths usually read, “Private Property,” or “No Trespassing,” or “Vicious Owner Has Gun.” You know the kind of signs I mean.
Feel free to pick the flowers . . . so I snipped a blue one and smiled all the way home.