casting a wish

It feels like a very hectic, very shaky time to be a human. 

I try not to be distracted by the massive peril that exists beyond the tepid nonproblems.

But if one bad apple spoils the barrel, what can happen with one rotten orange?

The boys take turns zooming past on a tiny bicycle tricked out with super high handlebars and, for special effects, a crushed plastic water bottle between the spokes. 

Could they be like some kind of fierce emissaries of the future?

When the world withdraws its mercy, I know to look for little things:

We are still cutting zinnias in rainbow arrays for the counter.

There are yarn projects and potholder loom loops all over the place.

Audition sheet music and monologues remain taped up by toothbrushes.

Gauze and goose feathers for fly hooks are scattered evidence of new skills.

There is music in every direction.

Life at home is strangely content. 

A shallow reservoir of magnanimity opens when I look at my children.

The boys are big-hearted and brave and so very wise.

Can raising good kids be a public service?

This is me not so much asking a question as casting a wish.