Early rising

Coming into the living room early this morning I caught a flash of color through the branches of a cedar tree. I went outside and looked up. A tall cumulus cloud floated above me and the rising sun had lit its eastern face with pure gold, gold so thick and bright I wondered gravity had not brought it down. Beside it, wisps and bits of cloud drifted across the pale sky, reminding me of puzzle pieces. They too were tipped with gold.

"This probably happens every morning," I thought. "Maybe I should get up earlier."

You probably know the Feds are finally leaving Portland, or have already left. The news is vague on that point. I didn't attend the demonstrations, though my daughter and I talked about doing so. It felt important, especially with the unwanted, uncalled for "troops," filling the streets with teargas every night. But I confess the thought of Covid has kept me home, so far. I am ashamed of myself for not stepping up; Ray would certainly have been there. 

So much happens every day that I find it difficult to focus, and writing requires focus. This plethora of topics should be welcome; instead I am simply befuddled. There is news of Covid, its unspeakable death count, and the strange aversion to mask wearing. There is news about Black Lives Matter and police brutality, and opening schools, and Biden's VP pick, and shameful inaction by the Senate. We have mourned John Lewis, an American hero, and been shocked by a presidential tweet calling for postponement of the election. Add Trump's talent—maybe the only one he has—to constantly change the subject, and we're all left lurching for a touchstone. And it will get worse as the election nears. 

The answer of course is to stop paying attention to the endless news and social media cycles and focus on what's real. What's up close and valued? What thrills us? What helps someone in need? There are so many ways to be in the world, but still I struggle to turn off the addictive noise and find my way to a clearer understanding of life itself. The clouds of gold that lit my morning were real, and far more valuable to me than the president's latest tweet. Real is where focus belongs.

Maybe I will get up earlier.