Sometimes you fly. Sometimes you don’t.

Yesterday on the sidewalk near my house, I spotted a paper airplane on the sidewalk. Perfectly folded, someone had clearly taken their time making it. And then had either sent it sailing out into the wild blue yonder only to land on my sidewalk, bottoms up, or had dropped it on their way home from school.

The benefits of living across from an elementary school are many. We have a playground across the street surrounded by lovely trees. Every day we hear the children whooping it up at recess.  And every day there is something out of place or odd left behind. A small pink sweatshirt, discarded when the temperature climbed. A deflated ball. A wrapper from snack. A drawing. And I wonder with each one who left it and whether they meant to leave it behind.

I hope the paper airplane had a long flight before it came crashing down onto the sidewalk and didn’t just fall to the ground, forgotten. And I left the plane there when I saw it again this morning, just in case its owner came back to collect it and made it fly once again.

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