Signs

Signs.

I don't know how to feel about them.

On the way to work, I saw a hitchhiker with sign strapped to his backpack, "Knoxville" in dark, bold print.

At first, I thought it might be a "sign" that since I saw this on the two week mark prior to going to Knoxville to transfer embryos, maybe that is could be a good omen.

Then I remembered my track record with signs.

Maybe it is a bad sign. He's in a rough spot, after all. He's still traveling. I don't want to keep traveling.

Or maybe it is random and means nothing at all.

You could drive yourself crazy with this stuff.

I also saw a pretty sky. The way the clouds parted and the sun shone out, it almost looked like two angel wings and a glowing face.

Work with me. I know the picture doesn't do it justice. It was the moment of stepping out of my car into the balmy air with a slight breeze and being enamored by the beauty and serenity of it. 

All that to say, maybe I see signs because I still have hope. I won't place my hope in the signs, but I must notice them because I believe there is still a chance something positive can happen.