I dreamed I saw St. Augustine

What days are these that political violence reemerges in our midst. Heinous, the violence. January 6th condemnable, July 13th condemnable. This violence must be condemned. By all parties. And the gun. Always the gun. Americans and their guns. 

How did we get here? For whatever reason, I think of 1968, when the veritable world must have seemed to be collapsing. The Vietnam War churning through ever more American lives, Hue and Tet in January. King then Kennedy killed within two short months of each other by June, and cities aflame in rage and fear. 

There is fear now too ... Trump as a kind of Caesar, set out to destroy the Republic and all its restraints on the accumulation of power once power is bestowed on him. But that is a future state of affairs. And as we know, the future is unknown. The current state of affairs is now. 

America, never so healthy, wealthy or powerful, tearing itself apart. How so ever did we get here?

Please note.

 A note recently written to a women’s college alumnae class secretary about getting older:

Your job must be tough too. For some reason, I have a baseball analogy in my head: an outfielder standing alone in the outfield of an empty stadium, catching fly balls during practice. Very methodical and routine and (perhaps) lonely, with one sharp twist every time -- each ball always has the same message scrawled on it ... "So and so has died. Please note."