These Things I Carry

The hour grows quite dark…

With the Autumnal tilt, daylight becomes scarce in the evenings of late. My homeward trek becomes increasingly a night-time commute.

As I close up the facility for another week, I pause… listening to the echoes of the silence.

My broom rustles across the floor, and then I mop. Splashing waters bring a shine to all the smudges and footsteps of the day. Through the open door, the bitter October wind send cyclones of leaves against the brick walls.

I think on the words and deeds of this day, the tiny agonies and all too rare delights. The children and youth that pass through these doors. Adults, both young and old, seeking… needing. The great yawning need that is all around me causes a tremor in my chest.

That so many should have so few, especially in a community such as Annapolis (where only the gilded few have abundance), brings both anger and sadness to the forefront of my mind.

From behind the shadowy recesses of my conscience, I see one hundred sad eyes peer out into the raging maelstrom of this darkened world. From the safe vantage of a “City on a Hill” I watch the waves crashing.

I see the fruits of our local government, of those in power, and I see how the most vulnerable are marginalized and hindered by what amounts to little more than a “rigged match” of the haves against the have-nots. I am where the suffering is felt first, with the youngest and most inculpable.

Why are so many of the strong so shamefully silent?

Their voices strain and echo in my ears, a great cacophony disarming me in my quiet moments… some precious few of the many things that I must carry.


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