I live in a small town in what is known as the rust belt in the U.S. The population is lower than it was during the 1940. The per capita income is just over $17,000 dollars per year. Almost nine percent of the population lives below the poverty level. We have drugs. We have domestic violence. We have one of the highest number of bars and private clubs per capita I've seen.
Yet, there is not one part of town I say is unsafe to walk through. When you walk down the street, you are more likely to be greeted than ignored.
It got cold in my town last night. Frost was on the car after a week and half of early summer weather. As I drove into the morning sun taking Lady Glynis to work, I stopped for an animal crossing the street. The animal became a small herd of five deer. We drove on, crossing the Ohio River. Mist clung to the surface of the water, slowly swirling as it was burned off by the light of the morning sun.
Summer and fall. Poverty and riches. We find that for which we look, and see the beauty when we look with clarity from that still point at the juncture of the extremes.
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