There are rivers that cut the earth in two parts making it so that man must build a bridge to close the gap from one to the other.
There are softer, gentler canals beside these rivers above which wind paths inviting wanderers to follow the black top ashpalt wherever it leads.
There are green fields and low stone walls, horses and trees and roadside fruit stands, there are gravestones jutting up from the green beside white churches where the road bends where the names of the departed are hard to read weather-worn since Washington marched his troops thereover to battle.
There are fields ready for planting. There are children who have reached their eighteenth year under the impression that they have entered some realm of adulthood and independence, but will wriggle from their childish exoskeletons yet for years to come, but don’t tell them that.
There are irises that crave blooming, there are songs echoing since they ended, there are tears in times of transition and there is so much more to come.
I think I’ll keep boxing up the basement. I think I will walk this gravel road come morning. I think I will create space where currently there is occupation and I think I will ponder that space to discover new direction.
There are fires in the brush and tall grasses, there are firestarters among us who want to add to their ranks and celebrate lack of water. There are water carriers reduced to spectators watching bonfires brightly blazing, and there are blood thirsty bloodsuckers calling the rest of us cowards. More fire, they say. More fire, more destruction. See? This burning down is really building up. See? This war is the recipe for peace. This screaming is really what serenity requires of us all.
How do I tell them how hurt we are? How do I tell them there’s a reason why we choose water? How do I tell them getting out from under boulders took so much strength that sucking blood is not an option? How do we explain that we had swords we were forced to swing so many times that when we finally found surrender, sanctuary and safety we swore never to return to battle again? How do I tell them it took so much for us to live that killing things will be our own dying? How do we choose water instead?
And somewhere there are rivers. Rivers that separate landmasses. Rivers that require bridges and bridges are of men.