We interrupt the Washington Post Puzzle I was doing (a few tabs over on my web browser) to bring you the latest news from the DC Metro area. A political chill is settling back in after a temporary thaw of euphoria around the inauguration of a President who promises hope, audaciously. And just as audaciously, the old lines of power are being drawn down the aisles of the House and Senate chambers. Drawn across Pennsylvania Avenue - between the White House and the Capital. Winds of rhetoric are wafting in from the the left and right. Plant tops whose leaves were just starting to poke out in anticipation of a Washington spring are withdrawing back into the protection of the earth.
People are frustrated that where a new approach was promised, old ways are entrenched. Where cooperation was touted as the hope-filled way into an otherwise frightening future, pettiness is now promising to block that road. Diatribe is replacing dialogue. Hurt is precluding healing.
In the meantime, war still rages. People still hunger. Men and women still lose their jobs. And homes. And families. And children die.
And to top it all off. Despite of it all. We still hope. Hope that spring will come.
Subscribe Now: Feed Icon
About Me
- Mark Gorman
- I was born in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, along the banks of the Susquehanna River, in the valley made up by Bald Eagle Mountain to the south, and gentle hills and valleys to the north. That place that sheltered me, gave me food and friends, and both physical and spiritual nourishment for 18 years. That is the space where I was physically and emotionally formed. Ever since growing up there . . . because of growing up there . . . I have been inexorably linked to nature . . . to the earth and to all life.