The sweet honeysuckle breeze is small consolation, brief relief from the headlines of heat waves and hatred. I set off to the woods this morning looking for some kind of solace or peace. But honestly? While my mother threatens to live another four years, I’m wondering if I have to. Everywhere I turn there are disappointments and discouragements, humans making inroads where they do not belong, humans caught where others say they shouldn’t be, humans being…human. I am the generation of John Lennon’s Imagine. Peace signs and hippie hope. But hate comes around again, and again. And again. As if hope and peace are delusions, the dream from which we wake to these long and painful days. I used to think myself the happy one, the silly one casting light into darkness. La La La. But my ninja thoughts tell me otherwise, and I spend my walk wondering about the energetic force necessary to uproot infrastructures.
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