as summer exhales
its faint breath of wilting leaves
A final gasp
before the rush
The kids went back to school this week, as they usually do. Life returned to its clockwork normalcy and we all settled once again into the grooves we know so well. But on Saturday I turned on the television, a little before 9:00 AM, grabbed a coffee and found a spot on the couch in our living room. I sat there for the better part of the morning, alone at times, answering questions from the girls at others—who is this daddy? What’s going on?. Jacob was playing video games. Cynthia joined me for a bit, then moved in and out.
I couldn’t budge.
I watched a nation remember its soul. I watched as the ghosts of honour, duty and dignity descended and stormed in through soft abandon, the halls echoing from voices possessed, pushing assembled men and women towards some semblance of recollection, of honesty. I watched and hoped for rebirth. How could anyone go back to business as usual after these solemn moments had passed? How could anyone justify inaction in the face of renewed cruelty and lies? Or stand-by as an abyss threatened to swallow the foundational core of their republic? I watched and hoped.
Then during a pause I loaded the cesspool that is Twitter: the vile coward hadn’t even stopped spewing hate as the rest of the world mourned. Not surprising of course. But still another drop of poison in the bloodstream.
I took these images to reconnect—with the things we‘ve lost and those we still have.
As summer exhaled.