I’m laying in the backyard looking up at artistically streaky white clouds, slowly moving over baby blue sky. I’m trying to let nature calm me down after getting myself all riled up reading the news. Trump has done it again. Or really, does he ever stop doing it, does he ever stop doing the inappropriate, the stupid, the completely unpresidential, the UNAMERICAN? This time, he really put his Russian foot in his mouth, though. But you know, he is Teflon Don, so this too will slide off his back. The media is saying even die-hard conservatives are scolding his performance yesterday, but for how long and to what effect? As hopeful as I usually am about Saint Robert Mueller, I am just so used to everything staying the same. What are you doing Bob? What’s taking you so long? We’re going to be speaking with a Russian accent and wearing babushkas soon if you don’t hurry up.
It’s difficult to manage the big world with your own little world. But I recognize that it’s really my call on how to arrange these two realities.
I look back at the sky. Those slow-moving clouds have dissipated and the sun is leaving shadows on my neighbor’s house. I hear more cars now, breaking the silence of early morning. The day is beginning. I can choose to focus on the immoral man who leads our country, or the gratitude I feel looking up at the sky. I choose the sky for today, and the flowers and the grass. And the abundance of good that can so easily be obscured by our president.