I woke up this morning, to a grey day in Maine.

Blaze and I are here with some folks who are inspecting the black hole in the barn (I think they might be astrologically expertish, but masquerading as ‘structural engineers’ and other secret-agenty titles like that).  Also, friends Glenn and Elias, are here painting. They come up and stay here, and we trade stories and eat food and I write and they paint. It’s cool when they are here.

So this morning, HRH The Princess Bunny-Blaze and I headed out to Baby Beach to explore a little bit before jumping back into the car and driving to the General Store to grab breakfast sandwiches and coffee for the boys back at the house.

Usually, I just buzz the windows down to let the salt air in. I listen to the wind and the car on the short ride to the little beach. But today I clicked on the radio and, because I’ve been concerned with other things these past few days, I spent about 7 seconds in confusion before I realized why there were two voices, alternately reading the names of fellow humans.

September 11th.

My eyes darted to the display in the middle of my car’s dashboard – it was like flipping to the back of my middle school math book – to check my answer.

Wow.

And though that day in 2001 was beautifully blue-skied across the Northeastern United States, this day – 13 years later – is grey.

So we took a walk on the beach. Me, a mere mortal, accompanied by my royal German ShepHerd girl.

And I thought, and she sniffed and gently picked up shiny beach pebbles and placed them carefully where she thought they belonged.

There is something about a grey day that is more pontificate-y than other days.

My mind felt grey.

For those who died.

For those who were left behind.

For what humans are willing to do to fellow humans.

When they dehumanize them.

In the name of ‘should’.

And I know that there is irony and hypocrisy in saying that one should avoid, as much as possible, deciding that there are hard and fast rules to what our fellow humans should or shouldn’t do.

But I’m pretty sure that what happened thirteen years ago falls into the ‘shouldn’t’ category.

Not only in what actually, physically happened.

But because what led to it – the idea that there should be and is only one way to think, one acceptable belief system, and that anyone that doesn’t think that way, does not deserve to occupy this planet (nor, any other place) – that idea ensures that what happened on September 11, 2001 will continue to happen, in big ways and small ways, here and there throughout the world.

As it has happened throughout history.

And I got all deep, wondering if the human race is indeed doomed to destroy itself, and when will that be…

And I oozed my sorry soul into the car (Blaze leapt in, having re-arranged all the pebbles along the beach to her satisfaction).

And we went to the store, picked up coffee, breakfast sandwiches and a scone.

And when I got home, it was still grey.

And by then, all my new Morning Glories had closed up for the day.

Except one.

And it was a beautiful soft blue, and was reaching as hard as it could toward where it assumed the sun would show up, at any moment.

It looked so certain.

And I smiled.

Hope.

It kicks fear’s ass.

Every.

Single.

Time.

My scone was a little more delicious than usual after that.

Thanks for readin’.

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