Weighty Things

My head wants to talk of weighty things. Of leaks to the press used as political weapons. Of an imperial president and his party of moral values. Of self-serving manipulation of public fear in the face of a terrorist threat. Of the reemergence at last of the Gilded Age with the captains of industry comfortably back on top after a century long wait.

My head says to write of these, but I find myself staring at the monitor, my fingers motionless on the keyboard. I have run out of outrage. And with no fuel to fire my thoughts, they fall into a shapeless mess of embarrassment and sadness and anger and hatred. Perhaps it is best the we let them be.

So although my head calls for weighty things, I conjure up instead thoughts about rain or images of wildflowers. I think instead of the wood ducks I saw on the lake this afternoon on a log on the south shore of the river. I think of the turtles sunning themselves even though the skies were turning black. I think of the wind blowing around the bend in the river as I pulled at the oars and drove the boat upstream.

And all those weighty things just sit there in a heap on the floor.

9:55:43 PM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []