Just a week or so ago, it looked like we might not see much winter, and suddenly here it is.
The arrival of our first snow was followed by a another weekend storm, and there is more expected overnight and into tomorrow. As I type, the wind and snow is picking up outside this cozy room where I sit next to my toddler, he with his milk and cereal, watching a few short Thomas the Train episodes after school. “There’s Percy,” he notes between enthusastic bites of Cheerios. “And Thomas has blue wheels.”
We spent a lot of time this weekend staying close to our little boy, learning more about Newtown, Connecticut, and thinking of the families who won’t tuck in their children again, won’t hear their voices, will only imagine the span of their lives. I can’t imagine any kind of words that could begin to represent such a loss, nor can I begin to understand what could motivate the shootings. Finally, I cannot conceive of a reality in which the answer to these murders is more guns.