Then Did The Sparkle Of Money Appear

One of these days, the guy with the orange hunting cap will show up on our street, head down, trudging along the tree lawn, speaking to no one. But not today and not for many days to come.

When the snow has melted, and not one instant later, he will be here, looking around the meters where people have dropped coins and are less concerned about them than he. A dime here, a nickel there, a quarter the next place; it all adds up. He gets some exercise, fresh air and enough loose change for whatever he wishes.

Even during the nice months, he’s out here kicking a leaf out of the way, locating the odd coin lost in the grass.

I’m not that energetic, which is surprising for someone who is as cheap as I. When I used to walk over to the newspaper at 1:30 in the morning, I could spot a penny in an unlighted dirt parking lot. Picked it up, of course. But, even though I keep an eye on the metered area around here, I’ve rarely seen anything fitting the description of “coin of the realm.”

Friend of mine, back home where we had a public beach and a deposit law, used to go barrel-picking and come up with all sorts of treasure: bottles and cans each worth their own price at the redemption center. Over the course of a year, that would pay a good part of her annual cruise. We don’t have one here; pity. I’d have containers all over the place and a nicer cabin on the ship.