The Honolulu trade winds rippled through the grass, shifting without urgency, like a thought drifting in and out of focus. I walked through my neighborhood park, the salty air clinging to me, mixing with the warm scent of sun-baked earth. Then, huh, what’s this? My hand swooped down like a hawk striking its prey.
Half of a five-dollar bill? Just sitting there, torn, and waiting. Why?
(Sidenote: I’ve always had a knack for finding money. Most recently in Denver. But once, driving down Ventura Boulevard, I saw an ATM suffering some internal crisis, spitting out bills like a broken slot machine. I rather gingerly slammed on my brakes, ran over, and *yowsa!* - almost $200 at my feet, apparently free for the taking. Ethics and morality had yet to make their entrance in my life.)
I digress.
Back to today. Still walking, still searching and scanning for the other half. Fighting off my doubts, with only my will nudging me along, reminding me that lost things tend to stay lost.
And yet, just as I lifted my head, there it was… tangled in the ivy beneath an avocado tree.
Finding two halves of a torn five-dollar bill felt better than earning a crisp fifty. Some things aren’t lost, they’re just waiting.
This reads like a parable disguised as a stroll. Sometimes the universe doesn’t give you whole answers—just pieces. And if you keep looking, they might fit together better than you expect.
Love this...Ain't it just like life to give you half of what you're looking for.