And sometimes

More often than not I write these Wednesday columns from a place of concern, disappointment, of anger, fury, sometimes fear. And shame. Such a dark time. So much that drains the spirit, that brings a person to the brink of despair. This time, my country, my "fellow Americans," as Nixon used to say. (Quaint now to think how evil we thought this man was.)But today I awake at the moment of dawn, when sunlight streams through the mesh of the tent. The air is cold, fresh, new, not yet breathed. I awake to the sounds of some of the 225 species of birds that make this lake their home. I awake to the soft snores of the person with whom I've made a life, children, a home.And for a moment--sinking deep, oh-so-deep--into this privilege, I think: This is good. I live on an amazing planet. Isn't it a blessing, an astonishment, a glory, that despite the cruelty and hatred, the nooses made of bread dough, the furious insanity of 3 am tweets, the 2.3 million we put in cages, despite it all, the sun comes up, the sky is cerulean, the birds sing.