Our power is out so I’m camped at Steve’s office after early morning coffee at Peets, and a return to home to shower.   

This morning I watched people stagger in for their caffeine lift. Two women had pulled a coat on over their flannel pajamas, and as though sleep-walking moved along murmuring coffee, coffee, as they wound their way to their chosen source  of renewal.

Before that though, an early morning gift was going outside around three or four to place blankets and pillows on the deck, and resting face up, watch the stars.  With all the lights out in our area, I could see dimensions and layers of stars, knowing some were whole galaxies, not just stars. I saw five meteors flash.

All of this meant I didn’t read the news until 1:30 today.  I find it hard to believe.

It’s Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.  One man’s son is here also as his high school is closed to honor the day, and, yet, we are observing a humanitarian crisis, innocent people killed.  Why?

I come to this poem for support.

A Gift

Just when you seem to yourself

nothing but a flimsy web

of questions, you are given

the questions of others to hold

in the emptiness of your hands,

songbird eggs that can still hatch

if you keep them warm,

butterflies opening and closing themselves

in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure

their scintillant fur, their dust.

You are given the questions of others

as if they were answers

to all you ask. Yes, perhaps

this gift is your answer.

~ Denise Levertov ~