Lent: Listen

Sometimes I think that as writers we get so used to metaphor and symbolism that we forget that words have actual, primary meanings.

It's descriptive if I tell you that Kevin is a vulture. And if I tell you that he followed Ron patiently for hours, circling around as the other man looked for shelter, for assistance, for rescue; well, you know what sort of man Kevin is. And if I tell you that Kevin and his companions descended on Ron as soon as he fell, and didn't leave until they had picked his carcass clean, well that just settles the matter.

Lawyers can be awful people, and Kevin is Exhibit A why.

But words have literal meaning as well. A vulture is bird that eats carrion rather than hunting, and one that has the untoward habit of finding animals that aren't quite dead yet, and then waiting patiently. It's no wonder we use them to malign people we don't like.

Today's photo and word prompt is listen. This does not mean "understand a different point of view,' nor "imagine you are someone else," nor "put yourself in another's shoes." It means "engage in auditory practices that allow you to hear what someone else is saying, and process the meaning of those words."

Listen.

(It seems strange that someone would read a meditation on listening, and also that the word listen would be a prompt for photography, but here we are.)

Listen.

There were a thousand sounds assaulting my ears today, and a thousand messages demanding my attention. So many of them aimed to stoke fear. This virus will drive society to collapse -- buy a gun to protect yourself! Wear a mask! Don't come inside! We can't trust China! The economy is collapsing! The president is an idiot! The media are lying to you!

Listen.

Today I listened to a quieter voice that led me outside. I dug up some of the day lilies that came from my great-grandparents' farm in Cambria Mills, and I moved them to the back yard. I cleaned up trash. I prepared the earth where I intend to plant lettuce, peas and spinach in the next few days. I pulled up weeds.

I listened.

There were no butterflies yet to eavesdrop on, but I did hear a few birds, quietly singing to themselves in the maples. My neighbor was preparing his motorbike for riding weather, and i listened  as it roared its triumph across the neighborhood, I listened as a man stood on the sidewalk across the street and told a woman in her house what supplies he had bought and left on the porch for her.

I listened, and I heard the sound of a new spring unfolding; of life continuing in its familiar routines, however altered; and I heard the soft declarations of compassion, love and basic decency from one human to another.

We're all weighed down right now, sometimes for fear of what the next few weeks will bring; sometimes by the oppressive loneliness of being stranded at home when we want to be at work, at school, or at play; and sometimes by other worries and anxieties we either don't know how or are reluctant to express.

If that's you, reach out. A burden shared is a burden lightened. Talk with me.

I'll listen.