Where hope can be reborn

Driving in silence... A gift given by the hand of many.... too much data consumed by the littles... The kittens playing on the roof destroying the ancient antenna... Irritation with the media in general... Too much thought time...

Seeing over and over again as I leave the trailer park I must drive through after leaving the neighborhood just one misstep from of this way of life; the keepers watching. And I wonder, what happens if we change the approach. What happens if we go rather than sit. What happens if you know a child's name because you took the time to be interested in them? Not because you had the unfortunate responsibility of caring for them or detaining them out of the duty to do so. What happens to that hopeless deary place where children play in the street unattended. What happens when the bright uniforms of the keepers become comrades rather that an iron fist of the law or the last resort? If the respect is won, what happens.

What happens when life gets the better of you and you are the hopeless one, when you are the one playing in the street alone and not attended by a single soul... When everything goes wrong and nothing can seem to right it... When you keep pulling yourself up by your boot straps until the very soles of your boots burst apart... And the keeper is not a comrade, but a judge. Hope is not only dead but further away than it had ever seemed before. Is there no answer among man on God's green earth?

Morph one action - one of the judge into one of a comrade, and a fellow on this path who reaching out a hand utters words that impart strength to get up and try one more time, redirect thoughts, energies and ambition toward good and right. This might be where hope can be reborn.