We live in the Two-World Matrix. There is the World of the calm, serene sense of place, and there is the world of heated rhetoric, lies, distortions, and the joy of war. The Worlds coincide like parallel universes. The birds sing around the Writing Porch while the war with Iran heats up. People are dying while politicans grow fat in guarded security to say whatever evil that travels through their brains. Vacation season is in full bloom while bombs fall from the sky.

‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave/when first we practice to deceive.’

Heaven and hell, light and dark, storms and sunshine walking side by side. It is possible to step between Worlds.

The people of the night are preparing. They enjoy the night, the dark clouds, and the stormy skies. There is comfort in the quiet. There is rest in the thunder. Rain makes them sleepy. The night has less. Less noise, less clutter, less distraction. Easy to focus. No questions with no answers. Small ball, small beer, small life. The humongous is downsized. The introvert’s haven. No one to impress, no one watching. Deadlines are softened. Happiness is highlighted. Perfect peace.

Practice makes perfect, but who wants to be perfect? Isn’t good good enough? How about credit for trying? The World was built by trying people. Not experts, nor professionals, influencers, nor the wealthy. People who were a bit afraid but gave it their best; there was no one else to call on. A New World with bitter cold winters and sickness all around, no food nor friends. Tobacco that made a body feel better if you could stand the smoke. Native Americans with their own culture understood the New World; it was not new to them.

‘What is your draft number? Do you have a high number?’ Billy asked Danny. ‘We must answer the President’s call to fight for the world in Vietnam…why are we fighting?’ Danny asked. ‘It seems the least the President could do is give us a reason for dying young for his ego,’ Billy said softly. ‘I am off to Basic Training,’ Danny said as he waved goodbye.

‘We have won the war in Iran,’ President Trump said. ‘We control the Strait of Hormuz,’ PT continued. ‘We are fighting so the Iranians will not get a nuclear bomb,’ PT proclaimed. ‘Let me show you the latest photos of my New Ballroom,’ PT said with a dance in his step.

The Mallard quacked as he swam across Brooks Pond. The Mourning Dove sang. The Downy Woodpecker kept the syncopation. Tomorrow is a New World if we can keep it.