I know, I know. Much is not right here in the world. We conjure and raise up hatreds and fears born of misconceptions. We bow down to profit and convention instead of the goodness in each other. We make wars, first with ourselves, and then with those we call other.
We perpetrate unspeakable violence against the creatures that also claim this land and air and water as their home.
Still, I am lifted and hopeful. It’s not all (or even most) of the time, but I can still find the little red flower growing out of the trash heap. If I get down close to the earth and press my ear to the dry ground I can still hear the stirrings of worms and scuttling bugs. I can still feel the wee, sigh-like stretch of seedlings getting close to breaking through the dirt. I can keep loving their new green hopefulness and joy. So grateful I am, for this.
My default is introversion. Truth is, I am very comfortable in here. But being out and about, not just with the grasses and trees, but also among people, can be life-giving, too. Shopping for food becomes therapy, when I remember to put PAY ATTENTION on my list, and then take notes.
Notes:
In the subterranean levels of my being, I have a faith/in you, kindly looking woman with two kids in your grocery cart, one of whom is screaming/ in you, silver haired twosome who might be sisters, or friends, or lovers, combing through the bananas to find the perfect combination of yellow and green/in you, ever cheerful cashier who almost always speaks to my daughter as she stands, rocking and scripting, beside me in your line/and/in you, young man with the profane political bumper sticker on the truck you drove here, which may not be yours/truck or sentiment/I have faith in you.
—Melinda Coppola