• Christopher McHale

Bird Watching In The Middle Of A Pandemic.

We’ve become a world where the truth is better left unspoken.

Where disturbing the cultural narrative is impossible, where facts are subject to negotiation.

We retreat into tribes and spit across the divide. We’re a world of the masked and the unmasked. Truth is a cell phone video. A comment section jury delivers judgment.

A pandemic arrives, and we have no will to fight. We wander lost through a twisted maze of entitlement, sure of our course. We stalk each other. We seek digital fame, no matter the consequence. We quickly complete our mask, over mouth, nose, and finally eyes. Our fear and anger find earth like a high-voltage arc, sending everyone in its path straight to hell as we cheer.

And those of us who feel the pain now feel more pain than ever. And those of us who read the signs now shake our head. We see some things real and some fake, and can no longer tell the difference. Worse, we’re not allowed to tell the difference as discernment dies. All we can do is retreat to the top of the hills and watch.

Come down again when the stars settle. Drink whiskey and listen to new poems—string ribbons from the Maypole and dance. Sit with our dogs. Take children for walks. And remember why God put us here. If these are not our lessons, what do we need to learn?

The world is ours to create or destroy. Destiny is the fate we choose. Our superpower is love.


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