A brief sunbreak

 I was one busy sonofabitch yesterday and didn't get to see or hear a moment of the inauguration of the 46th President. That was fine with me. I'm not a hopey-changey kind of guy. As you've probably noticed, I think my country is in a very dark place right now and, largely though the dogged efforts of "conservatives" is unlikely to get brighter anytime soon.

The mere fact that the nation was rid of the worst hominid ever to be elevated to its highest electoral office was enough for me.

When I got home last night, though, my Bride wanted to watch the ceremony, so I got to sit (well, mostly sit - the Little Cat demanded play, so I hauled out the jingle-ball-on-a-string that is Her favorite and spent much of the re-broadcast doing neko-jarashii as they'd say in Cat Samurai...) and watch the whole hour or so of lame speeches and political theater.

And then came Amanda Gorman.

And she was transcendent.

I'd read bits of her poem earlier in the day and had thought it was fine.

But in her own voice it was more that fine. It soared. It resounded.

It sang.

There will be dark and dirty, dangerous days ahead.

But every so often it is moments like her poetry that remind me that for there to be light there must be darkness. For there to be dawn there must be night. And that for there to be courage there must be fear, and the two must always be yoked together.

Amid all the refreshingly bland political mummery it took a slender young woman of color to remind me that even in defeat there is honor and glory in facing those fears and dangers bravely and with hope that the fight is worth fighting.

Or, as Gorman put it:

When day comes we step out of the shade,

aflame and unafraid

The new dawn blooms as we free it

For there is always light,

if only we're brave enough to see it

If only we're brave enough to be it.