More Grief We Do Not Need

As Bostonians lock their doors and police break out their heavy gear, going from street to street in search of a 19-year-old Chechnian(?) young man of Muslim persuassion armed with guns and bombs, those of us in relatively nearby towns sit and wait for further news.  Perhaps because I live in one of the towns with a great big prison in it, this does not seem quite so odd, but it must be terrifying for most people who have not had time to develop some sort of psychological callous to it over the years.  I do not feel the fear of it so much as a great deal of grief.

These two brothers deliberately targeted children and women in their efforts to bring their religion's problems into our nation's borders.  These men are not heroes, they are merely cowards and murderers of the lowest and vilest degree.  You cannot shame such as they have become because they are no longer capable of feeling shame.  They lost that ability when they gave up their humanity and chose to kill and slaughter and maim in such heinous fashion.  It is to the credit of God and humanity that the younger brother is being offered a chance to reclaim some vestige of his soul by those who persue him; being called upon to surrender before he kills again for no other reason than the unadulterated hatred that has become his only religion and will, ultimately, bring about a miserable and vainglorious, tragic and pathetic end to a life barely lived.  I hope he surrenders and deprives that which drives him of its blood lusting feast on the tortured remains of his soul.

It was on a beautiful day such as this that the Twin Towers came down.

Somehow, may you know true peace, true love.

Izzlebug

Bright Spots

Last autumn we acquired two "new" kitties from a local animal shelter to help refill our empty, or almost empty, home with love and life again and to give our Fluff cat some company; she kept wandering around yowling as if to call poor Sammie back from beyond and it seemed like we would lose her too unless positive measures were taken.  Although the kittens and younger cats were adorable and fun to watch and play with, I chose a pair of ten-year-old sister kitties named Binx and Snowball.  I chose well.

With the distractions of concern and distress over my Grandmother's failing health, as well as other family matters and personal troubles, I am only now getting around to sharing this little poem with you who happen upon my blog.  I hope you enjoy it.


BINXIE

My idiosyncratic cat
Who chatters on about this and that.
The birds, the food, the fresh,
Bright air,
Her sister Snowball's blue-eyed stare.
She chirps and purrs when its time to sleep
And flips and flops
And mews and squeaks
Until the one spot of rest is found,
Then soft silence becomes her song.