Desolate and lone
All night long on the lake
Where fog trails and mist creeps,
The whistle of a boat
Calls and cries unendingly,
Like some lost child
In tears and trouble
Hunting the harbor’s breast
And the harbor’s eyes.
… Carl Sandburg wrote that. (the rest by member worldwise/Don) Poems are personal. Sandburg captures simply, beautifully and succinctly the feeling, his feeling, of what it is to be lost.
Today, and over the past few days, I have heard similar sentiments expressed as people say that they no longer recognize their country. They feel lost.
I’m here to remind that our ship is indeed still in safe harbor, the harbor’s breast, if you will. Even though the lighthouse and shore are obscured by the fog of fear, bigotry, anger and hate.
Night’s darkness descends around us. It brings with it a pervasive, inscrutable anxiousness. But it is just a feeling. There are beacons and horns out there everywhere, beating back the night, the fear, the anxiety. Find them. Be one. Turn darkness into day …
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