Yesterday, on my early morning walk/shop I went past a local pub.  It’s an enormous 1930’s pub, surrounded by an equally enormous car park.   Empty of course.

Except for one man, sweeping.

“That is going to be the cleanest car park ever.”  I quipped.

“I’m doing it for cardio, I’m not a jogger.”

But he was also doing it like it was a Zen garden.  Systematically, methodically, calmly.  Sweeping everything into neat little piles, one in each marked parking space.

Beautiful.

And I never thought I’d say that about an empty pub car park.