I thought about snakes this morning
A convoluted ping-pong thought
Process brought me to black snakes
And then to snakes eating mice and moles
And then to the confident order of it all
Today, the daffodils and forsythia burst yellow as cherry trees bloom pink
And they broadcast “God is here”
Amidst the order and beauty.
God is the trees and flowers.
And in the swirl of man made chaos
The proof is in the greening grass
When the dream stays vivid
Beyond the coffee clarity
Sobriety’s hangover forges
A wretched phantom dread
Why sunset and sunrise?
And not the in-between
Beams of high noon or
3:00 PM shadows looming
Why endings and beginnings?
And not the in-between
Lunches in paper bags or
3:00 PM coffee-line waiting
The mundane daily muddle
Rarely makes the blood race
Between the sunrise & sunset
There’s magic in the middle
It was magic. Unquestionably.
The timing that is.
The miraculous decision to shave her head at that precise moment. Lobbying her parents with a Powerpoint presentation on the benefits of a hairless head.
A teenaged Bruce Wayne.
A wide-eyed Peter Parker.
Imagine her list: So much cooler. No more shampoo. Money saved. Free-flowing drains.
But what about these?
They’ll listen to the girl without hair.
A modern day Samson in reverse.
And, most urgent:
Please release the magic.
How miraculous that the sheering occurred at the moment it was needed. Mere moments before tragedy struck.
The tragic and magic coexisted on camera for 11 minutes. “I call BS” flowed through tears from the fierce bald-headed girl with an unwavering gaze and ferocious courage.
And the nation listened.
It was magic that the timing was perfect for a hero’s birth.
Then she lead with a devastating “would never” refrain before standing strong, blinking through the pain.
And the excruciating silence.
Silence
Silence
Silence
The courage to be silent.
A superpower.
Pure magic.
A hero was needed and she was born with an electric razor and a kind resilient heart. From mind-numbing tragedy she emerged with a spellbinding look. An unwavering heart.
And razor focus.
She’s hope for our future.
True magic.
I spoke to Jefferson that night
Or to his statue to be precise
On my visit decades later
On the side of the lawn
Hidden by dark bushes
On the deep winter night
On those grounds I had loved
During those lonely years
Where the beauty of the place
Was my favorite part
“What do you think of him?
Avoiding his name
On the virtuous ground
Sadly the answer
From his frozen gaze
Or my own addled head
He’s not an intellect
Or a patriot
Not an inventor
Or builder of anything real
Not a writer
Or a man of conviction
Not a crusader for truth
Or a champion of honor
(There are no hallowed grounds in his future)
As I take in the place
Built for learning and legacy
I pray for our beautiful country
Cringing in his path
mannersworld 