Roll the smelly black bags down my dirt driveway in a green dumpster to sit by the grey ashpalt and wait to be taken by men in a white garbage truck.
I pull the dumpster over rocks, around rain-formed channels, past potholes and ant hills and small animal tracks in the sand.
The same chore, the same route, the same way, and leave it all by the road in exactly the same spot as last week.
Every Wednesday morning.
Without fail.
And nothing ever changes.
Nothing.
Ever.
Changes.
Except for today.
Today I looked beyond the routine, and found marvels.
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