I'm staring out the window of my tiny writing cottage, surprised to see new rosebuds. I had thought, by July, they were done. But four small buds poke jauntily through a tangle of leaves. Spotting a sliver of pink, I smile.
Until I turn on the news: Bombs fall, shattering bodies. Women are doomed, our rights stripped away. The planet sizzles. Those who can afford air conditioning—and electricity--will be the new elite, further warming our world. Voting rights, democracy itself, are under attack.
How can I hold the joys of rosebuds with the awareness of a cruel planet--and remain engaged without falling into despair, like so many friends? Read More