Heron

I don’t have a dream in my heart this morning. Only the mist of visions.

The consensus reality is unlike anything I have experienced in any of my lifetimes. An existential crisis without end. A shadow war with no front, no rear, only a broad strong back.

With the Great Recession, we had an event and recovery. Same with 9/11.
With the Gulf War, we were, even in a rapidly fracturing democracy, able to influence events, to a certain extent, through action.

Now we must influence events through inaction, which is not an operation human doings are evolutionarily, biologically, or culturally programmed for. We must simply be.
And, once again, we are signaling our allegiance with death. Especially the death of the voiceless.

We are, once again, reminded of the Oneness of all things and it frightens us.

And here, so close to the Socoian Southern Appalachian leyline, perched pineboards in window frames remind us of our past as merely another roadside attraction. Yet one more tribe of man to pitch tent in these ancient mountains. To drink alluvial waters and move on. Move West. Move South. Move downstream before we may wish leaving only grit and the flowers of bones.

What will the crane say when she passes this pond next Spring?