“I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a
crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still
say ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes. Sometimes, when you spill lemons from
your grocery bag, someone will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to
harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank
you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. For
the waitress to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, and
for the driver in the pickup truck to let us pass. We have so little of each
other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. They
are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when
we say, ‘Have my seat,’ ‘Go ahead—you first,’ ‘I like your hat.’” – Danusha
Laméris
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