Dorothy has an orange tree in her back yard
Ripe and ready last week
The tree groans and shrugs under the weight of full, ripe, juice-running-down-fingers oranges pulling nutrients from within her aged spine of a trunk
A giving tree.
Loving our neighbors means sharing our oranges
Because when we have an abundance of fruit, why let it go sour in our back yards?
Dorothy loves her neighbors
Dorothy is a sweet orange
And her sweetness extends beyond the last morsel of citrus – there is always more, and next year the tree will be full again
Sharing the sweetness of our gifts is not a rotten pursuit
I love you, terrorist.
You have a name, like I do.
You were once a child. We both were, once.
Perhaps we’ve shared the same joy that comes from riding a bicycle. We’ve shared the same flavors of favorite foods, the beauty of sunsets, the feeling of joy while playing a fun game.
We’re both human. We share the same stars, moon, sun, and earth. Our bodies work in much the same way. Food and water nourishes us and sleep invigorates us.
We both have parents and families that taught us how to discern right from wrong until we grew old enough to explore different sets of ideas and ways of thinking.
There are people in our lives we love so deeply whose losses we would grieve terribly should anything happen to them. Perhaps you’ve known grief at a young age, like me.
We are more alike than we are different. Continue reading I Love You, Terrorist