But really. This. This is it. And this song. Top lists when I was in Iraq, inhabiting a different skin, really. Running the five mile loop around Saddam's parade grounds, up and down the stairs of the Tomb of the Unknown soldier, hazy sweltering sun in the background, sinking lower and lower, our security guys wrap it up, then back to camp where we barbeque and drink beer and watch the bats swoop in and out of the date palms.
And now. Baby reaching for the keys as I type. Birds swooping in and out of the banyan tree overhead and I just want FIVE SECONDS, where I can type with both hands.
Different. Yet the same.
The news is full of hate. Like real pulpy, ugly, twisty hate.
And we gotta ask.
Where is the love.
And we gotta look around.
And start seeing it.
Father, father, help us
Send some guidance from above
Help us, help us see the love...
Because its real. And here. Tangible and twisty and so simple its easy to miss and so complex that it looks like a mom typing one-handed on her computer on a tropical island desperately missing fall and and family and CHEX MIX but here anyhow. Trying trying trying to make sense of it.
Because its here.
We just need to see it.