On the first real day of spring here in central Oregon, I dusted off my bicycle and went for a ride.
My neighbors, devout Christians, waved and wished me well. I returned their kindness.
I passed a young African-American girl drawing unicorns and rainbows on the sidewalk. “Nice drawings,” I called out to her. She giggled.
Three drivers took extraordinary efforts to stop and let me pass, waving at me as I did.
The Jewish widower who lives by the park was planting flowers. He wiped his forehead, leaving a dirty smudge, and smiled at me.
I counted seventeen children and six dogs playing in the park. The sun was warm, and the daffodils were in full riot.
I returned home, and lamented to myself, “Why can’t the world be that way?” Then I realized.