In our hippie town, it's common to see Tibetan prayer flags strung across front porches. I think I read somewhere once that the idea is, each time the wind blows, the prayer is carried up. That feels a bit hokey to me--although, perhaps no more hokey than lighting a candle, which people commonly do--but I've always viewed the flags as more of a sign of good thoughts and wishes and hopes, flittering in the breeze and spreading good. (Looks like Wikipedia sort of agrees with me, for what it's worth.)
Although I didn't set out to make it that way, when I finished with this summer's banner in our back yard, it reminded me a lot of a strip of prayer flags. I was sitting outside this evening--a little sore in the spirit, if truth be told--and I began assigning some of them.
One for me to learn to curb my salty language before the Kid starts to parrot it.
One for my nose to just un-stuff already.
One to be as good a partner to Sweet Husband as he is to me.
A few for some clients in need of judicial miracles.
Several for all of our friends who are getting married and having babies and making new homes this summer.
One for a longstanding dream that's painfully close.
Two for two newer ones that are, as yet, pipe dreams.
One in thanks for Bonnie the Buckeye's beautiful orange-yolked eggs, as well as those of her sisters.
One in thanks that Bonnie the Buckeye hasn't killed one of the Indigo Girls yet.
I went on and on like that, through the better part of the banner.
I don't know that it ultimately made me feel better--only NyQuil can do that at this point, I'm afraid--but I don't think it ever hurts to remind the universe at large, as well as yourself, of all the things you're grateful for and all the things you hope for.