Hope is abandoned buildings, tree limbs twisted through busted out windows, glass sparkling like diamonds on the floor.
Hope is thistle breaking through cracks in the sidewalk, slowly, slowly turning solid rock to dust, honey bees circling spiked stalks, purple flowers, bodies heavy with pollen.
Hope is the crumbling stories of skyscrapers, disintegrating bit by bit, lichen climbing cement, crawling up man made rocks.
Hope is the secretive bobcat living in the empty house at the end of the block, scattered bones, the remnants of meals, scattered across the yard.
Hope is the garden in the empty lot between the auto repair store and the check cashing place, ancient beans trellised high to the sky, native corn stretching straight to the heavens, arms raised.
Hope is the roadkill deer gently skinned and butchered in the apartment building backyard, antlers cradled sweetly in warm hands, full bellies of fresh meat, offerings.
Hope is the child, sure of foot, and sound of mind, high in the branches of the twisting tree in the abandoned house, sparkling diamonds made of glass, singing, clear and holy like the white throated sparrow’s delicate song.
We may be living through collapse,
But we do not need to be collapsed.
Go outside, lay down, warm back on cold ground,
Look for Orion’s belt, the slope of his bow, arms outstretched, arrow at the ready.
Listen to your own heart beating, feel the great turning of the living earth beneath you.
There are other ways of knowing.
Thank you for listening,