This almost, but not quite, slipped through without notice on my plot within the ant-farm with beepers here on the South Forty that I call my life. I was born at night, but not last night.
I have a calendar; I know what Sunday was and am also aware of what began Monday. What the fire in Fort Pierce should tell all of us is that the spiral of hate is continuing. The eye for an eye that will leave us all blind while searching frantically for pointed sticks just keeps on keeping on. The authorities have someone in custody and this is where I note 'innocent until proven guilty' except that's not my big point (the one under my hat).
Me and My Invisible Friend can beat up you and yours and if we wrangle until time ends to settle that, well, that's just fine by me and mine, though generations to come will have no idea what any of this warfare is about. At some point, we can all start to call it a tradition so that we don't have to think too much about it because too much thinking rarely does anyone any good anymore. especially us.
All the fighting over New and Old Testaments and whose book is better ceased a long time ago to make any difference, at least to me. The only testament I'm looking at is my own last one and maybe if each of us did a little contemplation of our own navels, we'd have a bit more introspection before force-feeding our rosaries and prayer rugs to one another. Maybe. And maybe not.
And Abe said 'where You want this killin' done?' And God said 'do it down on Highway 61.'