It’s warm enough to snow again, a soft sparkly snow. I find I have
little to say these days. It’s not that I am preoccupied with the
disaster — on the contrary, as 120,000 people die on the other side of
the globe, my life goes on as usual. It is this, I think, that
preoccupies me. How is it possible? The cats and dogs go on demanding
attention; I go on being warm and safe in my winter house; the
television goes on offering me trivial distractions. And snow falls,
and melts, and falls, and melts.
The Garden This Morning
One response to “The Garden This Morning”
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I feel sort of the same way. Though I have purposly avoided a lot of the news coverage so I wouldn’t cry all day long, I still have pondered how it is that we are graced with the ability to live our lives as we always have and yet there is such loss elsewhere in our world. It feels a bit unfair.
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