Winks

Right after it happened, I looked up to find an old man at a nearby table looking at me with a knowing smile. I looked away, but he spoke.

“Are you paying attention?”

“Sir,” I said, “I have no idea—“

“Where I come from, they call ‘em Winks.” (I swear, when he said the word, it was capitalized.)

Then I knew that, incredibly, he had tuned into that serendipitous moment when, thinking sadly of my recently dead parents, I heard pouring over the restaurant speakers the words and melody of their favorite love song.

“It was only a coincidence,” I began, but his hand came up like a traffic cop’s signaling STOP.

“Where Winks are concerned,” he said gravely, “there are no ‘onlies’. After all, they’re not called Winks for nothin’.”

I sat gazing out the window for a minute. When I looked back, he was gone. As I left the café to join the sidewalk traffic, a woman’s eyes met mine for an instant. She reminded me of Carolyn, an old girlfriend. As she passed, I saw a large C embroidered on her jacket. Marveling at that, I thought of the old man again—and just then a car passed; it had the license plate PAY-ATTN.

From then on, the Winks have continued to come. Now I look for them, for I have come to relish the deep feeling of belonging that permeates a world that had been strange and alien to me before.

My limited research shows that if you are looking for Winks you get more of them. So believe in little miracles. They are happening all around you.

Sharpen your ability to see the windows of blessing and
opportunity opening to you. Visit www.myjimballard.com

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