There’s a boy who couldn’t stop hysterically laughing at every gourd he pulled from the market basket. He held one out as I passed and we felt infectious joy shoot up between us.
Down the hill, there are sober clad mourners gathering in the parking lot, jackets whipping in the wind. Is it this time already? Someone scuffs the pavement.
A bridge, and a neighbour with mermaid hair chats over a fence with the newlyweds. The clouds of early morning clear off and I pass peeling apartments, a sand pile, a parking lot.
There’s a smell of bread in my car, and corn and the sound of missing him that plays in my head all the time.
And again and again and again, I hear the words of a long suffering God saying louder, seek the good of your city.
When you want to bury your head in the computer and boot it up.
When breaking news ticks across every screen.
When you’re weary, broken and down-trodden…For this, you need not despair.
But pick up the gourds, quiet your soul, and with love beyond yourself..seek the good of your city.