Hate Has Become the In Thing

It seems that the country has turned its negativity into political power, and it’s so magnetic that it’s slowly pulling us all in.  I can’t believe what I hear and how easy it is to divide into groups, one against the other.

This division has no purpose but to grab more votes from those who are easily led.  Why do they fall for it?   So many just do not have the capacity to think for themselves, or to think logically.  The lies are blatantly ‘in your face’, but the blind, deaf, and needy don’t want to see or hear or even have to think too hard.  They’re so easy to persuade to jump from the cliff.  Why do they have to drag the rest of us down with them?  Why do they have so much hate in their hearts?

Many citizens forget (or were never taught)  who is supposed to be in charge, and are freely tossing away all their rights.  For what?  What will be their reward?  Embracing miserable poverty and complete domination.   Who really wins?

Advertisement

A Weed Beside a Long, Dirt Road

Instead of a daily post, it becomes a whenever I can post. I’ve been busy though. I’ve new stacks of yardage to turn into patchwork quilts. I think I’ll try a patchwork table cover this time. I have a breakfast room that would look nice with a bright new cover on the table. I’ve actually covered my dining table with a quilt just for the color, and I liked the look.

It’s been a tiring year, emotionally. Life has a way of getting in the way sometimes. I’ve been going over some of my early writings and found peace in the memories. I’ve remembered that I love dirt roads. Where can one find a quiet dirt road anymore? I need one now. Walking a simple dirt road gives the mind time to think and wonder. There is so much to see, such as lizard tracks in the powdery dirt. I’d forgotten how beautiful they are in their precision.

Looking up into the sky exercises the imagination. There’s no one to watch and question your every move or word. Such freedom! Being alone on a dirt road is being one with nature. Wildflowers scattered here and there blend their color among the brown and green weeds, and they are compatible. There is no one to look at the weeds and say, “No, no! You don’t belong in my back yard.”

I’ve felt much as I imagine a weed must feel lately. A nuisance in the wrong place, wrong neighborhood, wrong back yard. I can’t fit in among the planned, landscaped beauty of flowers rooted in a greenhouse. I’ve tried my best to disguise my roughness, but the flowers know and delicately turn their faces away. I feel I’m being pulled up by my roots from my favorite place, and there’s nothing I can do.

To remember the serene quietness of walking a long, dirt road is my inspiration. Being alone is not lonely there. Where can one find such a place now?

By being quiet and setting my mind free,

it’ll find the place I yearn to be.