All The Time

As I was pulling out of my apartment complex this morning I watched these two female postal workers trudge through snow drifts that were well past their knees. With heavy bags of mail lifted up to their shoulders, they climbed through these massive and seemingly endless mounds of old, grey snow. And they just kept smiling and talking busily, as if it were something normal and unimpressive. I marveled at them and their dedication, if not to their job then to the habits of it. All the time we trudge through, stepping over the stones and stories ahead and behind. All the time we spend doing what we think of as mundane but others may find fascinating, or at the very least, noteworthy. All the time we doll out like change to those who matter, have never mattered, should matter, or used to matter; a quarter here, a nickel there. Time and money, tying and dividing. Investments. All the time.