There's this little space of yard beside our deck where Bern has been dumping dead leaves and I've been throwing corn husks for the nearly 30 years we've lived here.
And stuff is growing there--flowers, ferns, plants. Lots and lots of stuff growing out of rotten leaves and corn husks.
The rest of our yards are full of life--but so is that rotten, dead, sh***y place.
Life is stronger than death. Life grows from death.
Which means (if I'm allowed to Hope in this dark time of our President Who-Will-Not-Be-Named) we may bloom again after so many attacks on immigration, equality of race and gender, climate change, green energy, the power of Congress, Truth, Justice and the American Way.
Stuff grows out of S***.
Maybe there is reason to hope, to dream, to imagine a future where my grand-daughters will flourish.
I pray it might be so.
I pray with all my heart and soul and mind.
Then I go over to the edge of the deck and watch life emerging so vibrantly from death.
Hope, Beloved, Hope!
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