The beginning of Patriot’s Day yesterday included these words in the weather forecast, and I wondered right then how “filtered sun” differed from “partly cloudy.” I wanted to write about this, and about the animals and birds I saw and heard on the dog walk, the view of the sea from the top, and the ever intriguing fungi in my garden. I’ve been digging out tree roots these fungi have been working on, roots from trees removed years ago yet ones that are still saturated with water. I even wanted to share how I laughed to myself as I walked into the woods with dog, having the thought of just far I was from, never mind running, even walking the Boston Marathon that was going on at that very hour. Most of us who live here let the race into our day in some fashion. But all that was before the day turned to darkness for so many, or perhaps for all of us.
The train ride in today, the next day, is muted. Two flags on top of an office building are at half mast. The sun is bright but it feels fully cloudy in the soul, in the suspended parts of our selves where we have to parse the horror and suspend belief that such senseless and injurious things happen in the world in which we now live. Has it been this way for a while now?
We, in this car, will move out of the train and into our days, but parts of us will be heavy for those who are suffering. I hope our inadequate thoughts, prayers and invisible support will be of some comfort to them. I am so grateful for those who will directly touch, aid, and assist them, and be instruments of justice and mercy. This will call for bravery in a time of great brokenness, and courage in the very tall specter of grief.