But December gets help, if not from nature by way of
tsunamis or earthquakes, then from us when we bring out to the fore that which
should reside forever in darkness. I shudder to think of what more we are
capable of.
We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it
from our children - thus goes a Native American saying. I think we have already
borrowed too much of it in every which way and all that we have left to pass on
is a legacy of bloodbath.
And yet I cannot give up on hope. It bursts forth like a
little sapling from within the depths of a stained soil. I want to nurture it.
I need to nurture it.
Now that the calendar has turned its leaves, discarded a
year gone by and heralded in the brand new sunshine of January, I can breathe a
small sigh of relief and say a little prayer.
Of Hope.
Of Change.
For Children.
For Us.
For Safety.
For Prosperity.
For Peace.
For A Happy New Year...
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