June 1, and the temperature is 39 degrees. It feels like the first day of Frost Place conference week out there: which is to say, freezing cold in summer. Northern New England is a crazy place.
I'm feeling somewhat more pulled together than I was yesterday: still full of grief and dread about the state of the nation and its people, but I worked in the garden and hung out with Paul and went for a long walk with Tom and made the best crab cakes I've ever eaten. The actions of my body were a sort of tonic, though a tonic is no solution, nor even a statement. But as far as a statement goes? Well, I'm not convinced I have the right to make one.
So Monday morning, the first day of June: I'll keep doing what I know I can do. I'll read and I'll listen.
We will get through this. Things have been this bad many times through human history and still the sun rises and bread is baked. I am looking for openings to be helpful.Keep writing to us as you can. It matters.
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