Okay, the broken gull let me lift it from the sand.
Let me fumble it into a box, with the lid open.
Okay, I put the box into my car and started up the highway
to the place where sometimes, sometimes not, such things can be mended.
The gull at first was quiet.
How everything turns out one way or another, I won't call it good or bad, just one way or another.
Then the gull lurched from the box and onto the back of the front seat and punched me.
Okay, a little blood slid down.
But we all know, don't we how sometimes things have to feel anger, so as not to be defeated?
I love this world, even in its hard places.
A bird too must love this world, even in its hard places
So, even if the effort may come to nothing, you have to do something.
It was generally speaking, a perfectly beautiful summer morning.
The gull beat the air with its good wing.
I kept my eyes on the road.
I have put thousands of broken birds into boxes, sometimes they have been mended, often not.
I have always wanted to label this state of bird injury and extinction as bad, my anger sometimes fueling my engagement in the overall broken world, and sometimes not.
There are just too many dying birds out there for anger to suffice.
So I awake this morning determined to love the world, even in its hard places, its impossible places.
What is impossible for you to love?