down that path

sadness overwhelms, lying down

under the weight of chaos

of knowing that without foundation

of adherence to respect and truth

with the inability to communicate

let alone trust

with the acceptance

of ‘alternative facts’ and unsubstantiated accusations

there will be no security of self

yet we rush to go down that path

though we learned where it takes us

only eighty years ago

material things

Material Things

            Warm and soft, caressing my shoulders. Mom was wrapping the fluffy beach towel around my shaking, four-year-old frame. I’d again stayed playing in Lake Erie’s chill water until my skin was wrinkled, and then, knowing better, sat in the shade of the elm inventing adventures for the twig men I’d found among the rocks of Kelley Island’s sandless shore.

            “You should have come in long ago,” Mom scolded with a smile.

            “I know, Mom.” I did know. I’d even thought about it when my teeth started to chatter, but the stories those bits of wood were drawing from me were too fascinating to be interrupted by discomfort I barely felt until the trembling and shaking made me run to the cottage. I knew I’d be greeted by terrycloth baked in sunshine on the clothesline strung from the back porch to the corner of the outhouse.

            My shoulders snuggled in fluffed warmth, the rest of me could drip until all of me, too, was baked in sunlight, recovery, acceptance, security. The texture of that towel told me I was loved.   

Alternative Facts

The concept of “alterative facts” haunts me. Turth is difficult enough to approach, let alone define. How can we work from a stable foundation if that foundation can be altered by anyone to redefine the basics to suit personal wants or fears or needs? How can we share or communicate if we cannot agree on facts or reality? How can we construct on chaos?