A couple of weeks back, on a family member’s birthday, I made a mistake on the card I was writing for them.

(I often draw little cards for people and then write a message myself. This is partially due to forgetting to buy cards and partially due to enjoying the process of drawing one.)

I tore up that card (I was writing in marker) and I either threw it out or threw it in the recycling. I know I *should* have recycled it but if I was distracted, it might have gotten tossed into the garbage.

And I thought nothing more of it…until Tuesday.

On Tuesday, Khalee and I were walking along the sidewalk about 7 or 8 minutes from my house and I noticed a piece of paper with familiar handwriting on it sitting on a little patch of grass between piles of snow.

I picked it up to look closer and it was a piece of the torn-up, first draft card.

How did it get there?

Did our bag of recycling get torn and the piece of index card went flying?

Did a bag of garbage tear open in the truck and release this scrap of paper?

Did I unwittingly put the scraps in my pocket that day and then pull them out with my keys or my mittens as I was walking along?

All of these explanations seem unlikely (especially the last one) but clearly one of them must be true.

Otherwise we have some sort of time travelling/alternate universe/portal situation on the go and I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with that. 😉