Saturday, July 21, 2012
With the TV off—deck petunias waving in the morning breeze, and sunlight creeping into the Lovely Crevice like consciousness after a good night's slumber—one would never suspect our state, maybe even the entire country, to some extent, is suffering through another mind numbing senseless act of brutality.
Not that it wasn't in their hearts, but I could't see it in the faces of tourists nor pool patrons last night. On the fringes, life doesn't stop for death. Life barely paused for nine eleven—as if it was a minor pothole. Life doesn't so much as blink for IEDs that shrapnelize Hummers, suicide bombers that maim market squares, or airplanes that fall from the skies of Scotland. But likened to an earthquake, as one moves towards the epicenter of destruction and devastation, life comes to a standstill. I saw it on the news, frozen on crumpled faces, in eyes... streaming tears of grief, in the shock and numbness of body language. As reporters tiptoed around a suburban Denver movie theater turned war zone, collecting flesh and blood images and stories, our lives went on... but it took a little piece of our hearts, and a little peace of our minds.
I don't know what to do about horrible things beyond my control. They lay in my lap like a dead puppy. God help us.