And so we wake up to yet another mass shooting, another furious annihilation, another rampage crushing eloquence and faith and community.

It's impossible to write anything that frames the hole of wordlessness in my chest.

Meanwhile, here on sedate Concord Street, neighborhood organizations are posting anxious social media warnings of the "we never thought we'd see it here" sort because someone found a needle on the sidewalk two blocks up from my house. Of course it's here. What makes these people think that a street composed of cute well-kept houses equals immunity?

Meanwhile, rich parents cheat to get their children into college, while my Pell-Grant kid washes dishes in the dining hall and worries that going to the infirmary will cost too much money.

Meanwhile, tiny plants struggle to sprout in a cold wind. The first robins hop over the snow crust.

I send my love to you. Send me some back.