Update on nothing.
I am craving poetry.
Not abstract poetry that I can't interpret but ordinary, grounded poetry.
I have Mary Oliver's new book at home and I just keep reading about the turtles digging holes and the seagull in her bathtub again and again. It seems more real, more ordinary, more ground under our feet than anything else.
I am cutting myself off of social media more.
I am also reading articles more thoroughly.
My heart is also breaking.
And also we are feeding our kids.
And reading them books about inventors who are black and refugees who are hope-filled.
We are clinging to each other.
And also looking outward...discerning out energy...pouncing on resistance at times and caring for our neighbors in profound and surprising ways.
Our chicken died. A raccoon got it. I am so so sad about it.
Sad about death but also sad because the chicken and her daily egg had become my poetry. She had become my ordinary miracle each day. Sometimes raccoons kill chickens. Sometimes populist bozos with white supremacist friends are put in charge of countries.
I have been wrapped up in politics before. It has never been this destabilizing. I am thinking a lot about how much our government has worked to destabilize other countries. My sympathies are with ordinary families trying to live their ordinary lives.