Off-season Tuesday, the kind where nobody’s in a hurry. I certainly wasn’t.
Found a prescription bottle on a bench by the park. Name was Marge, address on Elm Street. Not far, but the long way home goes past the old mill, past the pond.
I took that route on purpose. Figured Marge could wait. I needed to see the water, hear the bullfrogs.
The bottle was warm from the sun. I turned it over in my hands, reading the doctor’s loopy handwriting.
By the time I got to Elm Street, the light was going soft. I slipped the bottle into her mailbox, no note, no knock.
Walking away, I felt lighter. Like I’d borrowed a little of someone else’s day and carried it careful.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is take the long way. Let the small errand stretch into a quiet kindness.