August 12 – 13, 2017
Don’t mind the tears, the ink is permanent; it won’t wash away.
It will be real tomorrow, and the next day, then all too quickly become a tragic page in our nation’s history with the harsh lesson of lost life once again forgotten—till we hurt each other again. Whether it is a protestor or police officers coming to help, there are no do overs from dead.
I wrote, erased, cried, rewrote, and then sat for a very long time Saturday night. It is not the first protest in our nation’s history to result in death, but it seemed to represent more than its own conflict. I wanted to post Saturday, then decided to breathe first, try to find a thread of hope. I awoke this morning my thoughts still connected to the struggle. I stood at the kitchen window, typed a text to my father, and felt the tears warm my cheeks again as the sun came up over the mountain. Superhero found me in the kitchen and we spent the morning discussing many things.
It’s a new day. That in itself brings hope. Writing, project-n, and my day job are all opportunities to foster change.
I will hold on to peace, hope, love, and understanding by giving it where I am.
And, confession is good for the soul: “Yes, I bought books at Goodwill when I dropped my batch of books off for donation.” (grin)
Books of course bring me back to writing. I’m working on some new plans and Superhero knew it was exactly what I needed when I found five of these beauties in our garden this afternoon. I’ll share more later.
I named them peace, hope, love, understanding, and slow dance.