Yesterday I kept turning away, but today I am looking head on at the photos on the news sites, listening with watery eyes to the radio. Health-guilt, safety-guilt, hope-guilt aches through me. Twice I moved to donate money online before I realized I can't today--my bank account is frozen because it was stolen from me by someone five states away. I can probably live for seven days on the $7 in my wallet, and if I can't, I am far from left in the cold. I can borrow and I can cash the check I'm carrying around and this is such a LITTLE problem. It is so little.
There was a mallard smashed in the middle of the road this morning. Smashed. It was the green of the neck, twisted back on itself, that first distinguished it from any other wrecked animal. Its beak was crushed. I hate the thought of beauty destroyed. I hate the thought of the last seconds of disorientation. I hate the thought of flying too low.
Today is the first day in ten that I'm not wearing long underwear and that's why the sweater is wrapped around my knees. I'm sitting at my desk listening to news reports with my head and heart going in circles. I'm distracted. I'm on the verge of weeping. And I'll be saying one-word prayers all day.
Your first two lines are exactly what I've been doing as well. I couldn't avoid it this morning when I turned on good morning america. What a depressing start to the morning.
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