Photo: L. Weikel
Smoky Times
I find myself at a loss for words this evening. We’re living in some mighty smoky times, my friends. While I know I don’t need to tell you, I do find myself unable to concentrate on much else.
What does it say that the skies over the East Coast of the United States are being viewed through a burnt sienna filter as a result of raging infernos 3,000 miles away?
Is there no comprehension of the perversity surrounding two to three feet of rain falling on Alabama and Florida in a single day, at the same time that fires are consuming 4 million acres of land out west?
What blows my mind is that it is neither the peak of wildfire season nor the peak of hurricane season. Yet.
Meanwhile, we have proof positive, playing out before our very eyes, that those in the highest positions of authority in our government are lying to us day in and day out. Atrocities – literal atrocities – are being committed in our name and with our tax dollars against women who have been locked up in private prisons, some for three years or more, as a result of seeking asylum in our country. The country that used to pride itself on being a model of freedom and justice.
Gunfire
I’m sitting here writing these words with the front door of my home open. I was being serenaded by the heartiest of crickets remaining in the grasses and woods just outside.
As I wrote those last paragraphs above, I just heard gunfire. Rapid fire (semi-automatic?) gunfire.
It is 12:53 a.m.
I feel like I’m looking at my country through a haze of smoke and lies and disbelief that go far beyond the ravaging wildfires our brothers and sisters in California, Oregon, and Washington are enduring right now.
I need to consider, again, the small seeds I intend to plant tomorrow for the new moon. What will you be planting?
(T-436)