"A Loner, Dottie..."
As I stare up at her, the phrase “keeping watch” comes to mind. Guarding against imminent threat. It seems as though we’re spending a lot of time squinting at the horizon trying to suss out what might be galumphing our way: could be the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse or that rough beast Yeats promised or something still being assembled in someone’s nightmare factory of the future. Trying to be ready for it is as pointless as a garden of plastic flowers.
On her perch she looks so brave and defiant, facing the unknown alone. But then it occurs to me, maybe she’s a different kind of lookout. Maybe she’s keeping watch for others like herself; she’s a tiny black beacon holding space made for gathering. Because what arrives could be wonderful, an ordinary miracle like a brass band second line that seems to appear out of nowhere on a hot Tuesday afternoon in New Orleans. The unknown will sort itself out. It always does. We’ll be there to greet it, together.
Thanks for making me tear up in under ten sentences. Beautiful.