Even their shadows hide beneath dark sky and grim state as they make their way of escape from dark to dark – or watchfully, vulnerably wait to face night’s peril as I write this poem in my recliner in stream of sun while cheerful flowers named for same flourish on my screen.
In the midst of war (and there is always a war) lies grim misjudging. Fear of difference. Insatiable greed for land. Resolute loathing. Dire false impressions. Grave miscommunications.
And a common moon.
And beneath that moon, in God’s perfect alignment, is home to us all. We’ve food and water (if only we’d gladly share), great plains and mountains, celebrated seas with unfathomably large communal mammals. With microscopic yet astoundingly complex sentient beings. Sands God has numbered stay in place as our home spins, not spilling a drop of the vast waters that both adorn and provide, beautify and quench.
And though we do not tend to her needs (let alone the needs of “others”), God gave us this home brilliantly placed beneath the moon of His choosing, populated with children He chooses to love. (There are no “others.”}