Distance.

We’re deep in the season of darkness now, night so thick at 5PM I could hide my hands in it. At work this morning, my daughter texts me news of a murder-suicide in a nearby town. The deaths occurred this morning while my youngest and I were eating granola and yogurt, talking idly about Monday morning.

I’ve lived in Vermont darn near forever, and this marks the fifth murder in a handful of weeks. While my daughter and I cook dinner we talk about violence in Vermont — domestic, and not. There’s nothing I can say to change any of this. But I tell my daughter she’s part of the world, now frequently without me or her older sister. In my own mother speak, I remind her that she has her own part in the world, too.

Pay attention, I urge.

In the dark, I chop wood beneath the stars.

7 thoughts on “Distance.

  1. “In the dark, I chop wood beneath the stars.” I think you subconsciously nearly unleashed a tanka there Brett!
    Quick blast from your past Masahide post:
    Barn’s burnt down
    Now I can see
    the moon!
    Thanks and do indeed stay alert and aware. GT

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