Seth, in his orange Home Depot apron,
smiled at me with my basil plant.
Basil, he said.
I walked over and held it out for him to sniff.
He chanted, basil, tomato, oregano, olive oil, and if you're lucky
mozarella! we said in unison.
The man and woman were pulling logs out of the brush pile at the township brush-drop off and mulch pick-up. Michael and I had our truck, Big Blue, filled to the edges with brush and logs to be rid of...The woman was hauling out branches, no gloves. Her husband picking through and carrying logs to their mini-van. Then he came to our truck.
I help, he said, I used to work on farm.
Are you from Russia?Michael asked.
Albania. Then, Bronx, New Jersey, and now...Pennsylvania.
Oh, I said, Albania.
This was our mantra today on Sunday errands...
Noticing the threads that connect us, even if at first glance we might think, I have nothing in common with those people, or him, or her, or the lady in the tangerine coat in the bean aisle too tiny to reach the top shelf so I helped her, this was years ago, and I remember wanting to give her a hug but didn't want to scare her.