by Gregory A. Kompes
The news was unavoidable. Finias Monk had certainly tried to avoid the political machinations of the moment. Avoided logging into the news portal. Stopped reading the daily news. Stopped listening to NPR during his daily commute. He’d stopped going out to dinner: alone or with friends. Often, there were people talking about current events near him, taking sides. Angry or elated, it mattered not. And, he avoided meals and other outings with friends, because how could you not gather and eventually speak of the current events and news and downfall of society. For both sides seemed to believe that society had or was failing.
While sitting on his deck, watching a flock of geese fly over—he didn’t know if these were a migratory flock, headed to safer conditions or if they were from the local flocks who’d setup residence in the rich waters and landscape.
As he watched, he considered the idea of movement. Should he leave? Could he leave? How did one navigate that? Should one navigate that. The birds squawking overhead, for now another large group was passing in a nearly perfect V-formation, needed no papers. They held no possessions. They lived in the moment. Found what food and water and daily needs and comforts they required. Without pretext. Without a worry for news or politics or leaders or borders. They simply moved freely, unless a predator or hunter became enthralled. Even if one did, it was simply part of the culture to lose a companion and keep moving on.
Did geese morn losses?
That was a question he’d never thought of or considered before.
Finias knew dogs and cats mourned and grieved. He seemed to remember reading a story about birds having long memories. He’d watched a documentary where elephants suffered grief nearly like humans, perhaps greater—their numbers so much smaller, their losses so much more impactful.
Most humans seemed to grieve, too. That seemed to be what Finias was up against these days. The news stories of changes and atrocities and dismantlings and deportations and the erasing of history and so many other overwhelming events, so many once basic concepts of truth and justice being torn asunder were so upsetting because they brought him a sense of loss, of grief.
But now, the geese were gone. Their honks grown distant. And in the returning calm and silence, Finias realized that even without the constant input of news sources and conversations, even while sitting in the calm afternoon sunshine, watching the forsythia and cherries in bloom, waiting for the next flock of geese in transit, that his own grief-stricken brain wouldn’t allow him to avoid the changing world around him.
Spring was a time of rebirth…yet, the daffodils didn’t seem as bright this season.
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