There's no such thing as an Empty Box....

Daybreak.  And Ray flies over the little bridge, pedaling through the morning sounds, following the Sunrise to home....And the boxes spill from the rickety little bicycle basket onto the deck...

This morning's finds....




I'll strip the sides off and wait for him to come home again to start painting....in tandem...the next little batch of  random cardboard stories.

And tonight,
When we get to Artisan Alley,
we'll fill the little pink box with a rainbow of words....And see which ones have wings....
Which ones reach out....to someone...
And
for a tiny second...
make a difference.

We'll watch for laughter, secret smiles, slow trains of thought....
And
we'll embrace the reactions of the strangers
that,
for just a moment,
we've known forever......

Our First Night Out...

This is before we had the Pink Box.....the wind would rattle it's fanny to the sound of the Drums and signs would blow everywhere....Funny, but looking back....this was the coolest.  Folks sat on the concrete drive-way plundering through the stacks of signs....spreading them out like graffiti fans on the sidewalk....

We had a lot of explaining to do.  People reached down the tube.  Stared at it.  Read it and stared again.  And then we told them what to do....

"Find a sign you think is cool, grab it...and drop whatever you like down the tube"  "It doesn't have to be money.  Just talk to us the way the sign speaks to you" 

That first night at the Moon Circle, we drove an hour home before we climbed out of the truck and emptied the tube....

We don't drive as far most nights, now...

But the heart thrill is still the same.  We tip the tube over...and smile.  There are love letters and trinkets.  Worry stones and change.  A rock  brought back from a hundred mile hike is carefully wrapped in tissue.  A handmade pyramid.... dollar bills with love notes scribbled on them. 

We wonder if the people our signs touch,
know how much they've touched us....