Like waking up from a dream into another dream that slowly shows itself. The morning was foggy and cool and I went to work, got some coffee and immediately out into the field. A group of us were harvesting 
willow and cottonwood poles for a revegetation training. We gathered in trucks, all a bit silent, shell-shocked, murmuring broken thoughts of disbelief. We picked up tools at the yard – hand saws and loppers and buckets, and drove down to a washed out creek that is about to be a huge construction project. We talked about how it could have happened, what to do now.
John has decided to give away a lot of money to groups who will need it. I want to give more time, and build more bridges, and hold people close. And not assume I know anything.
As the day went on the realization of it washed over me more and more until I felt pretty sick. Immigrants. The EPA. Roe vs. Wade. For what? A sad reality tv star. I laid down on a rock and stared up at the sky. And the rock felt solid and the sky was beautiful, with rustling cottonwoods dropping their giant leaves. And John brought me milkweed vine pods and Ana gave me a hug and Fred made jokes. The luck of it, these funny and kind people, shimmering in their brightness. We ended the day at a Mexican restaurant with fried cheese and tortilla chips and water in those red bumpy plastic glasses with lots of ice. All of it medicine, all of it needed.
Little Bug 