Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

Where were you when the clock held its hand or when the static was hushed? Where were you? A moment. A fraction of a percentage of our lives and I just don’t remember you being there. I was there. I’m still there really as I’m sure many others are. But keep and hold and grip because I remember me and I remember them, but I don’t even know them. A fading laugh caught on the sound of a crushed pebble, a grating happiness and sadness and connectivity struck us all in the whine of a vibrating string. Touch the sound.

Fingertips and slick love embrace us all in a day that we never expected, but one that thrusts us together in our fury and outrage. Light the wick, hug the crowd, forgive or become encumbered in blame. Singularity. It seems the puddles have leaked upwards and I’m more upset than I was, that dissonance grows more intrusive when the voices dim. Feed me your hope. Squint into the sun. Fail to express.

But when you see that crooked tree don’t push it upright. The struggle is in the strength, the sacrifice in the loose shale of bark. Huddle and crouch together, bowed from the wind but always protecting one another. Take comfort in your company.

~Honoring Sandy Hook. ~