Distracted, I am late for work again. Of course I will work through lunch. Stay late. Stay later. Take work home on the weekends. I am deeply connected with the work I do, with what it means to serve.

But I am walking down the street and my eye is caught again. A blue, a rusting lock, a shadow, and I am squinting, turning it over in my head. A grate, a tree, a forgotten slip of paper and I am cocking my head, looking.

I will be late for work again, but only by a little, and oh so much the better for it.