It’s darker now, at one in the afternoon, than it is on the darkest of winter days.
At six this morning I walked slowly to the second stop sign and back, the air smoky, everything coated with ash. The walk took, I would guess, about seven minutes. Then I watered the plants and gave some of them a bath. They depend on me. They are where they are because I planted them. They’ve given, and still give, their all. When they suffer, shouldn’t I expect, and be willing, to suffer myself?
If those who pretend to govern can’t be trusted and relied upon to care for the public’s health and welfare, it isn’t logical to trust and rely upon them at all. Theirs is ill government. The evidence abounds. But in truth it’s the people who are ill, and the people who govern themselves. Witness the mind of the multitude, turned inside out.
September 9, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Ash, Diaries, Fire, Forest Fires, Gardening, Government, Journals, Smoke, Suffering, Walking, Wildfires