Oh boy. I don’t even know what to say. My brain and my heart are a jumble of consonants that scramble to make words. I am a writer, a list maker ,a writer of sentences written frantically when I am trying to make sense of something , to quiet a turmoil within. This morning words, lists and sentences don’t seem to be enough. My soul has been bombarded . Images of a mob milling about , scaling walls, crawling through windows, chanting hateful words and inciting fear and confusion has my mind in its own upheaval. Orange phases, numbers, death tolls, missing young men named Zachary, the death of a sweet, gentle, wise woman, doom and gloom predictions swirl around and leave me feeling sick and tired, weak and weary. This morning will words be enough. Can I breathe deeply and regroup? Can I find the stream of light and hope to lead me away from all the darkness? A piano plays on the radio behind me and I allow the melodious notes to find a place , to quiet my soul. Now on the radio, a list of arts personalities and entertainer’s quotes are shared and in words we try to find our way through all of this. Words. Words matter of course and each one of us makes the choice of what words we say, what words we write and what words we allow to penetrate our souls. I will sit in a restful silence and find the right ones, the nourishing ones, the kind and hopeful ones. Right now that’s all I’ve got.