Trudy lifted the doormat that said WELCOME in rainbow colors and just kept sweeping. The bamboo broom handle
was light and the broom’s whiskers were soft and yielding.
Surprised at the amount of dust that covered an exact square of concrete
where the doormat
had been, she swept the powdery stuff into what amounted to a small
mountain, a miniature powdery pile of dirt and dust.
She admired the pile. Wondered where it all came from. Perhaps she
came from that pile. Perhaps everyone she knew came from it, too.
Many would scoff at this idea. They would say she had too much
time on her hands.
Imagine having too much time. How much would that be? How would you
even know you had it, too much that is, if you lost all track of
time and had no care how you spent it? For example, how long you
took to sweep each day; how much time you devoted to the wonder
of dust piles — the wisest, Trudy realized, of all teachers.
© 2008 Guy Biederman
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