Yesterday begins,
quite snowy, and a little
blowy
reports of winter storm warnings
feel,
as most language these days
slightly overblown
looks to me, just like winter
admittedly, much more winter
than we have had for several years
although from here, as I read about
losses of habitats, and lowering water levels
this, pile up of
precipitation, feels
about
right
my love has had to call in sick
about the fourth time in all of his 33 years
my luck, as this means I will have a
partner
in moving the white stuff
knowing well, this is how
we
work
best
together
a bit more nasty cold is up for this week
although more concerning for me
is the ‘more clouds than sun’
parts of the
forecast
Family Day here, a public holiday
where it is an option at my work,
however
given the choice of words like
family
and
work day
always an easy choice
as well, at our house
words like
butter tart come with
tradition
also, as luck would have it
this day will also include
hockey
seems reason enough, to celebrate
a favourite of mine, and a tournament
that features the best
of the best
unfortunately in the current climate
of divisive diatribe
has also included a lot of
unsportsmanlike
blather
and the other night
erupts in premeditated theatrical violence
before it
even
begins
a great disappointment of nations, and
humans in my humble opinion
if this is what we then teach
our children
never mind your skill, or what it is
you work hard to accomplish
instead,
you’ve been thrown in front of the curtain
to land a few punches
possibly injure yourself even before
the
game
begins
knowing well, ‘old school’ enthusiasts
will love it
but rationalizing violence as entertainment
sours the rest of it
and I
have lost interest
no matter who wins now
or loses
we all once again
have lost
our
dignity
yesterday, between loads of laundry
shutting out more disturbing news of the day
from south of our border
as well as the dangerous little upstart
pawing his way to the front in my own country
I take down from the
pile of waiting-to-be-reads
that ever so slightly
towers
above my chair,
An Interrupted Life: The Diaries, 1941- 1943 and Letters From Westerbork
of Etty Hillesum
and
The Nuremburg Trial by Ann and John Tusa
spend some time
on a brief thumb through
searching I suppose for something
just how, I am wondering
did they get, from there…
to
hear
(sp intended)
at the table, remaining puzzle pieces
an unfinished mess
disconnected
in bits
a map
of the world
I think today to gather it up
put it back in the box
instead, I
feed the birds,
go back to reading about the
garden
making plans
hopeful again
and sit with the last words in the diary
of Etty Hillesum,
“We should be willing to act as a balm for all wounds”
Etty Hillesum died at Auschwitz in 1943 at the age
of twenty-nine.
One would think somehow
we would have learned by now
how to do things
better.
May you be well my friends,
May you be safe
and at ease
May you be free in your thoughts
and your actions
and
May you find your way
to loving kindness ♥