Long haul: bits and pieces

Infection rates are spiking coast to coast: it's clear that the partial re-opening was premature in most places. My school district is trying to plan for multiple scenarios for the fall, but it looks more and more like we'll be all-in on distance learning. At this point, the only way I see that not happening is if an effective vaccine appears in the next couple of months-- and all indications are that we're a long way from that kind of breakthrough.

Quality of instruction? Best we can provide. Good enough? Hardly.

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Meanwhile, the city of Portland passed some budget cuts to the police bureau, which responded by tear-gassing a peaceful protest around the police union office. It's become clear that they are much more likely to use force around anything they regard as their "turf," i.e. the Justice Center, the North Precinct building. Excuse me: those buildings are public property, not "turf." I don't know about the union office, but I assume it's rented by the force. With public funds.

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Chatting with fellow poets, I realize that I have a very great luxury in not questioning my purpose. It is as it always has been: Communication. Connection. Evoking in my audience the ability to connect: with themselves, other people, the natural world, ultimately God. The how shifts from time to time, of course, but the why doesn't go anywhere.

These times call for the best that my craft can offer. At the same time, I feel the urgency to write something, anything: "Lower your standards and keep writing," Bill Stafford told us so long ago.

Books Available
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside