Find the cost of freedom
Buried in the ground
Mother Earth will swallow you
Lay your body down
--Stephen Stills
I left work with this song in my head this morning. The long guitar intro, longer than the singing, sprang into my brain almost audibly as I walked out of work into the too bright morning, hit the wipers once to clear the morning dew from my windshield, and started down the long hill to my short ride home. I don't know why.
It was a rough night for some, poor choices, a horrific accident, and a scene that left a crew, by the end of the night, numb and mute. I got thinking about the finite internal resources that propel a person into that sort of carnage, willingly, regularly, and for free. Night after night, they will come. They will leave half eaten dinners and broken promises of quality time and they will come. They will run, they will scramble into hot uncomfortable coats and heavy helmets and they will come. They will spend themselves into the broken fragments of a night, sweep up the broken glass, and you may never know their names. They will carry pictures they do no want to carry. Sounds they wish they'd never heard. Without judgement or expectation. And today, tomorrow, they will do it again without hesitation.
Never question for a moment that there are angels among you.
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1 comment:
And yet you know and understand, having been among them and part of the saga. Sometimes it is enough that they appreciate and lean on each other. At other times it is too difficult and as you so aptly wrote, they, we, do not remember. And that is part of self preservation.
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