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Why do you think you get to choose…?

June 16, 2016

It’s unnerving how the gay-hate shooting in far-away Orlando can feel so close to home.

I have gay friends in Miami, I have gone with them to gay bars. I have heard their tales of survival, making it from small town America, the Caribbean, Latin America.

Beautiful people just looking to live their lives, have jobs, families, travel, recycle their garbage. Just wanting to be regular folk.

So, up here, at the farm, 3,000 miles away, we sit quietly in bed before shutting off the lights, ending our day, and talking about the senselessness of the shooting that took so many innocent people. And just then a loon called out so stridently, so close, so clear, that our two cats awoke as one from the end of the bed, like synchronized swimmers, both turning to look out the bedroom window, as if the loon was right there, sitting in the window, looking at them.

We were awoken at 6:30am by the clatter of songbirds sitting in the lilac bushes and oak trees in the front yard.

I stepped out to take the dog for a walk in the back fields just as an enormous flock of geese fly over, low enough to hear the whoosh of their wings, in such perfect formation, precise enough to cut a diamond.

It’s late spring now, today moving into the high 20’s, summer announcing it’s arrival.

The trees are drunk on leaves, my hear aching from all the shades of green.

A thousand songbirds, ten thousand dragon flies, a million insects, and tens of millions of blackflies, turning over the garden, holding seeds in my fingers while the cats roll in the hot sand – the dog, rolling in the grass in his ever-present pure happy delight at simply being alive on this glorious sunny day.

Magic. Mystical. The Great Wheel has come around again to birth, planting, re-generation.

To again.

To barefeet in the grass, the hoot of the night owl, to lilacs and dandelions, devil’s paintbrushes blooming in the grass, buttercups and daisies, a cold beer on the front porch.

Today we plant wild flowers in solidarity with Orlando; to all the wild flowers who lost their lives so senseless, too soon, of someone else’s volition.

As if any of us get to play God – to make up our rules of tolerance, and intolerance.

Here’s to life, beauty, and truth.

To wild flowers, everywhere.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. June 17, 2016 4:10 pm

    Just lovely. Great tribute!

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