I walk to and from work everyday. I don't always enjoy it; particularly when it's dark (both morning and night) and raining (ditto). It's most hard on the way home from a long day. I optimistically tell myself, as the elevator counts down from 27 to 1, and as I trudge through the revolving doors of the glass fortress that houses my office, that it's a chance to clear my head, to let the pressures of work disappear before I come home. But often, I run back over the day's events and criticize what I said here, what I did there, how little I accomplished, how much more I have to do tomorrow.

However, once in a while I get to observe moments of brilliance on the streets of downtown Vancouver that make my whole day worthwhile, whether it's witnessing something ridiculous that coaxes out the laugh that's been stifled by the stress of the day, or something sublime, that teaches me a little about everyday beauty. Once I saw a man walking by a newspaper box that was covered in graffiti, most prominently, a swastika etched onto the glass window. He walked by the box, stopped a few paces later, and turned around. He leaned over and peered thoughtfully at the swastika, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick red marker. He uncapped it, and very carefully and deliberately drew a circle around, and a red slash across, the swastika, in the universal sign for "no" or "anti." He then stepped back, smiled in satisfaction at his handiwork, and continued down the street. One more little wrong righted.

I was inspired: to carry a red marker, to believe that no instance of hatred or injustice is too small to go unnoticed or unremarked-upon, and most of all, to continue my journeys on foot, to continue being a witness to these little curiosities of life, no matter how tired I am.