After all the troubles and trials of 2020, I wanted to end the year with something completely meaningless but fun. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.
Happy New Year!
After all the troubles and trials of 2020, I wanted to end the year with something completely meaningless but fun. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.
Happy New Year!
On a cold morning 130 years ago today, the US cavalry massacred more than 250 disarmed Lakota men, women, and children near Wounded Knee Creek in South Dakota. A few days earlier they had murdered the great chief Sitting Bull.
The massacre at Wounded Knee was one of the final and most vicious military acts in the government’s century-long plan of genocide against native Americans, and twenty soldiers earned the Medal of Honor for their part in the brutal affair.
We must never forget that the American’s vaunted Manifest Destiny meant death for millions of indigenous peoples.
In a bus line
in the heart of the city,
in a hailstorm thrusting silver shards of icy glass
deep into the concrete earth,
a woman holds a little Japanese baby
the colour of Cadbury’s
Dairy Milk Chocolate.
Asleep in peace,
his little fingers wave in the air like
undulating undersea fronds.
Beneath the coloured threads and protective fibres
of his logoed rainsuit,
no fever shakes the young child’s bones,
no distrust disturbs the sleep of purity,
no threats or worries fly about
in his head so full of wonder and learning.
In this child’s dreams lies the promise
Of the new year.
The Museum of Modern Art’s magazine — My Modern Met — has selected its favourite 60 images from the year. There is a wealth of beauty and wonder here, and it is hard to select just a few, but these are the three that I selected.
“No one and nothing can free you but your own understanding”
— Ajahn Chah
“None but ourselves can free our minds”
— Bob Marley
The smog-laden tangerine fog
tinted by a million lamplights
lays heavy tonight;
the busy rustle of the city’s moves
lost in its depths
like the delicate harmonies of a dulcimer
played in the attic as heard in the basement.
Closer, much closer, I hear
the lazy rustle of the scorpion
picking carelessly at a pecan shell.
I blink in the orange darkness.
It is 2:02am and it is the winter solstice. Hooray!
From this day forward (or at least until June) every 24 hours has more daylight than the day before — about 2 minutes a day, or about 20 minutes added between now and New Year!
Almost makes a snowy Monday morning worthwhile, doesn’t it?