Appendix #2
My heart is so heavy after the school massacre in Texas. The impact is doubled because my daughter teaches 4th grade. There, but for the grace of God…
Anyway, I’ve been meaning to finish this up and though it would be a good distraction so:
I have bunches more lily shots but this one showing it’s age seems fitting:
Do me a favor now–call your senators and ask to confirm Steve Dettelbach as director of the ATF. It’s a baby step but it is something.
See you next time.
Special thanks to Kim R. who always rescues me from the get go.
I’ve loved your photos, Jan… Over the last six weeks and even now, they’ve given me the kind of pleasure that’s not merely distracting but lit up in gratitude for the good things of the world. Here’s a terrific poem by Jack Gilbert that gives delight while accounting for the suffering, not unlike your post today:
A Brief For The Defense
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.
I go back and forth between not being able to stop crying and being infuriated! Let’s hope finally there is enough outrage for something to change.
Great photos … again, really enjoyed virtually traveling along with you.