Today I noticed, while walking through North Park, posters for missing animals. One pleaded for the return of a basset hound named Chloe. Another for a small black cat named Spider. The newest is a “FOUND” poster for a white parakeet its temporary parents had nicknamed, “Chuck.” I don’t know how one “finds” a parakeet. Seems like it would be the other way around.

Behind me at the grocery store a man has a shopping cart full (and I really mean full) of various flavors of rice cakes and nothing else. After speaking with him briefly he was obviously missing his sense of humor. My husband said quietly, “I wonder if that’s all he eats now. Maybe he lost his job and he’s trying to save money.” The thought hadn’t occurred to me.

From a busy neighborhood street I notice rows of newly planted trees. At the base of each tree are small plaques covered with newly turned dirt. The street borders a canyon where many years ago a young girl was found dead after being abducted by a stranger. The bottom of each plaque reads, “Thank You,” in large, cursive letters.

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