It was great to participate in the Women’s March this past weekend, and I am planning to follow through with Indivisible, going to my senators’ local district offices on Resist Trump Tuesday. If you want to know more about this, check out www.moveon.org/indivisible.
Here are my grandson and daughter-in-law who also marched in Oakland.
But it’s also good to keep it all in perspective. In this I am helped by this little gem by Sara Teasdale:
There Will Come Small Rains
There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
Sara Teasdale
Oh, I love that poem. I learned it in 9th grade, when we read “The Martian Chronicles” and the story by Ray Bradbury that uses the title of the poem. Somber–and the story as well. Time to revisit that book.
And yet I had never read her till I saw her name in “The Anthologist”! I had heard of her but never read her.