I always enjoy seeing our local Buddhist monks around town, here in Fort Wayne, Indiana. There are a few living in a wat about a mile away, somewhere between K-Mart and Scott’s grocery store. They are Burmese, I think. Bald, with saffron robes, the whole deal. Boots, jackets and hats with ear flaps this time of year, but with saffron robes flowing out from underneath. I see them most frequently at the post office and the grocery store. Actually, those are the places I go most frequently myself, so it makes sense. I always steal a glance into their grocery cart – never very much in it (of course) – usually some root vegetables. A few days ago, two of them were studying greeting cards.

Some day I will be brave enough to start a conversation with them. I hope.