Four Weeks

I am rarely lonely.

I sometimes prefer solitude allowing memories of others to fill me with peace or

meditating on quiet thoughts that help me find the words to fill a blank screen on my Ipad.

Today, Thursday, August 26, 2021, however, was quite different.

I knew that the minute I turned on the news this morning before pouring my morning Portmeirion mug of steaming black coffee.

Then I sat and listened to the news flashes spilling out horror without stop.

Instantly, I wanted someone to hold my hand or put an arm around my shoulder and tell me not to worry.

But there was no one who could do that.

Because I had to admit America must worry.

There is no one who can promise all will be well.

No hug nor embrace can change the reality.

America’s comfortable world changed in almost the blink of an eye or more accurately, during the four weeks of August, 2021.

Last week many of us grumbled when the focus was on how to emerge from the quarantine of Covid or complained vocally about the threat of the unvaccinated.

Today our treasure, twelve of our youth, our children, our brave warriors, were killed in a country that will now go down in the annals of history.

And while I often prefer solitude, I did not on this hot day of summer.

Because I tasted the fear of what tomorrow may bring.