The day the words were gone
Words, my faithful companions since day 1, flew daintily out the window over the series of days we call March. Perhaps they took it literally as Leap Year’s bossy February 29th delayed its entrance. “March!” the words must have heard as they awoke from their winter slumber. It is time. It is March. It is time to march out of my mind and into the ethers in a swirling tumble beyond the reaches of time and space.
Oh, I faked it. Gloriously at times. Prying the residual words who had not yet laced up their boots for the journey to the Nether World. I would hear them gather in the wee hours before dawn, hatching their escape plans. One fitful night, I awoke with a start as their final echoing steps sauntered gallantly down the hallway and right out the door.
Mass distraction crowded my brain instead. Tidbits and fragmented news cycles preoccupied my thoughts. It was hard to hear anything but COVID 19. I stumbled through conduct manuals being erected by authorities with titles and suits.
How should we behave now?
I have tried desperately to maintain a positive spirit and on most days, I have faked that too. It is a haunting period in our history, and a reevaluation of what it means to be human is at hand. We have been given the greatest opportunity in the world. If only we grasp it while we can.
I envision a world in which the survival of the kindest prevails. Selfishness will not. I envision a world in which we care for one another. Care deeply about each other’s feelings, each other’s passions, each other’s well-being.
Nature has given us an opening, the place where the words live now. We have a chance to go there too.
The question is if we are willing to listen to their whispers?
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