Originally posted on Facebook on March 31--As I look out the window of my room at this
dwindling day, March is ending with an eerie western sky. The sound of thunder
and the flash of lightning draw near. I’ve just recently checked out the news
of the day on my computer, addict that I am. Politics dominate the headlines,
mainly the Trumpster. I think fatigue is setting in. I feel lethargic. The
senses can only stand so much assault.
Like just about every red-blooded
Michigander still possessing his or her senses, I’m ready (straining at the
bit) for April and the green grass and blooming flowers. I want warm weather
that is a steadfast companion, not a flirt who is here one day and gone the
next. I want to get up in the morning, have my coffee, and go out for a walk in
light clothing. I want to sit on the deck at the end of the day’s work, relax,
and enjoy the green leaves swaying in the balmy breeze.
It’s been a hectic pace these last few
weeks of winter as far as writing. Events (meaning politics) have inspired me
to put forth opinions at a furious pace. I’m normally quite deliberative, but
lately I feel pressed for time, tossing out comments like a man stacking bags
of sand to keep the rising river from flooding his home. My written words—meant
as a counter force—are all I have at my disposal to erect a bulwark against the
rising tide of harsh and divisive attitudes that cause me to fret for the well
being of this noble experiment.
The inner voice keeps asking “why bother?”
I wonder on occasion, here in the room with the storm about to explode, if such
activity is a foolish conceit. Realistically, I can no more stem this
encroaching tide of human affairs (with all of its dark passions) than I can go
outside, shake a fist at the approaching thunderheads, and command them to
retreat.
But the act of composition—this ongoing
attempt to order my words and marshal them on behalf of causes and ideals that
I hold dear—gives me solace and a sense of purpose. Why bother? Well, why not?
The politics we pay attention to--this current campaign that has inflamed
passions and dominated the airwaves, the newspaper pages, and our thoughts--has
consequences in people’s lives.
If the outcome threatens to harm a
neighbor, or even an innocent stranger, then for me to stand aside—silent,
apathetic, fearful, or looking out for number one—seems a petty response.
What's more, as I look around, others have not been feint hearted in this test;
quite the contrary, they have planted their stakes in the ground and taken a
stand.
Winter in its final dregs can cause dark
moods, somber forecasts, and melancholy. The bright sunny skies of spring—this
season of renewal and new beginnings—can (if we so choose) brighten our
outlook, dispel the doom and gloom, and motivate us to hold a more positive and
optimistic outlook.
I’m hopeful that this change in season will
do just that in our political mood and eventual choices. We’ve been listening
this winter to the martial drumbeat of anger and resentment—the music of
darkness and despair. The piper we ought to listen to--and follow in a Dance of Spring--plays a tune meant for
everyone; a music that draws us together.
Well, I’ve written long enough that the
storm outside my room has passed. I see the sun glowing in a brilliant golden
orange as it descends in the western sky. Another evening is at hand, but the
morning light will follow.
Well, by hook and by crook, I’ve erected
another bulwark. Will it help to hold off the rising tide? Perhaps not, but you
never know if you don’t try. Like that lyric in the fight song of my alma mater
(Fowlerville High) says, “Purple means courage to do.”
To try is all I can do.
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