trying to look up

So, trying the past couple days to not look at the hookers coming back to roost in our neighbourhood, on our corners...soon enough, their dealers will follow. So much for the big clean-up...and perhaps the Red Zone. It's hard though, to not see the predators trolling...it's hard to believe that this is the Vision of Nanaimo that is being built. This is what it seems to be, anyway. It's hard to look away but if I don't, I'll drown in it. Walk the dog to Nob Hill Park and look at the Flickers and the Robins and the Ravens(who don't like their photo taken) instead of the crackheads(who also don't like their photo taken) on the hill, instead of the broken wine bottle spreading over the grass, instead of the "whistling" crack dealer(like the pied piper or something)'s car parked over there. I just can't look at it today. Not today.

Today I can't pick up one more piece of litter, take down one more plate number, tackle one more issue. We all just want to have normal days down here, too. Uncomplicated. Easy. You know, I don't mean EVERY day would be uncomplicated and easy...I am a realist. Life has it's trials...but do we have to do THIS every day?

We would like to be able to sit out and enjoy the enormous gift of warm sunshine in the middle of February, the same as anyone living in the north end...

So today, I am not looking...at that car idling outside my window for some reason....who is he waiting for? Damn. I looked.

I am not looking to see who is yelling in the alley. Not today.

Today, I am gathering my furry friends and heading out to look for more birds. Look up look up look up.

Today, I am, to the best of my meager ablity, tuning out the riff raff and tuning in to the warm rays of the glorious gifts of a gorgeous,warm February sun...

and feathers. Because, after all....

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune--without the words,

And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

(Emily Dickinson, Hope)