There is a stretch of street I travel with growing frequency. Along that street are two large planters full of beautiful orange flowers. I know this because a blind girl showed them to me the other day.
I was stopped, against my will, at a traffic light the other day. As I sat there delusional that I was wasting my very valuable time I happened to notice two people stopped along the sidewalk.
They caught my glance because of the way they seemed to be entangling their hands, holding them nearly shoulder high. Suddenly they began to walk together up the street and with her white cane tapping ahead of her I realized that she was blind. It seemed her companion was holding her hand more in communion than in aid.
I sat in admiration at the bravery and will she possessed to be out and about in spite of her challenge.
And then, without warning she came to an abrupt halt and thrust her face into the flowers that filled a very large planter. She seemed to be enjoying smell of the flowers and the feeling as they caressed her face.
I was as much surprised by the presence of the flowers as I was her actions. I had never noticed the flowers before, but she did. She then just as abruptly pulled her face away and continued her journey only to repeat her actions as she came to the second planter. I had never noticed the second planter either.
As I sat and reflected on that scene this morning these thoughts came to me... to what am I more blind than the girl who could see, to what am I more deaf than the boy who cannot hear?
I want to be focused on where I'm going, but not at the expense of where I am. I want to find what I'm looking for but not at the expense of whom I see.
I am thankful to a blind girl who helped me see the flowers.
