By Marianna Hopkins (Guest Contributor)–
August 2020 is no time to question anyone’s anguish. After all, our world is filled with worries over a global pandemic and how it should be managed, along with a whole host of other serious problems. All further complicated by dysfunctional and incompetent governance.
For some of us who remain relatively untaxed by these difficult times, particularly when it comes to finances, employment, and educational choices, we try our best to age with some grace and independence. But the social distance from those we know and love brings into focus a certain sadness and fear.
With that said, I want to tell you about my discovery on a path through some of these hard times. No, I mean a real path, a literal path. I walk this path each day. It’s the path I’ve traveled for over twenty-five years, both running and bicycling, now walking. But recently, reclaiming the ability to do even that, I have encountered a little pocket of joy.
On my first trip down the Old Mill road and trail in a long time, I ventured on to the precious little pathway that I know so well: the pond, the bridge, the trail of my past. But, my newfound joy lay in the rocks lining the trail. These are painted rocks, rocks with vivid color, shape, and design; rocks with expressions of hope, of goodwill, of advice; rocks painted in the most tantalizing ways; rocks that for a quarter of a mile make my heart sing and dance.
I can only imagine the people, maybe children, who painted those rocks and placed them there to comfort and inspire some of us who hobble, either physically or emotionally or both, down that pathway, somewhat broken. I hope they know how their little act of kindness connects to someone like me.
At a time when disagreement and division among thoughtful people seem insurmountable, a time many of us are choked by newfound responsibilities, a time when feeling alone is more real than it ever was, some choose to focus on what brings us together. And, on this trail with these rocks, I am reminded what healing can emerge from the smallest of gestures.
*Marianna Hopkins is a retired associate professor of English at Salt Lake Community College. She is married to regular blogger, Gary Topping.
