Today, I pruned. I pruned so much, and so gently. I cleared clutter. I put things away. I made clarity, in parts of our life. You can’t have it in all of your life, right?
And then, I took all our withered jack o’ lanterns to the garden. Lovingly, mindfully, in spite of their burgeoning slime and mold, I carried them one at a time.
I smiled, and I threw them, as hard as I could, at the damp earth. It was satisfying. Then, I took the shovel, and broke them into small chunks, easier for the earth and insects to transmute back down into useful nutrients. It took a long time.
With the first measured stab, my mind’s placidity broke. It shouted hostile prayer at all the things this election has pulled us into, and landed on the words, “hope for humanity.” Yes. That.
I reached into decay, with my bare hands and mind, and came out with hope for humanity. No matter how bad it gets, I just can’t seem to shake it, and there is no mortal thought, no contrived ideation I’d rather call home.