Hydrangeas at the Crossroads

Some of us wear our scars more visibly than others.

The wise ones say that we can't know the miseries of others until we've walked a mile in their shoes.

But perhaps we can't walk those miles; perhaps we only hear the whispers of sorrows in their songs.

There is a solace in shared coffee cups. 

We remember our elders in many ways.

We look for hydrangea blooms at the crossroads.

There are other signposts, if we have but eyes to see.