I followed the Boston marathon, exchanging blurbs back and forth via

e-mail with folks from all over the country, and then, the marathon
finished, I disconnected and went to mow the yard.

About halfway through the mowing I took a break. I came in about two
minutes after the first headline about the explosions. I checked a few
e-mail responses, posted a notice in a couple of places, but could see
no sense in engaging in the conversation. Kathy went to watch the news
coverage. I went back to the mowing. Work helps when the unraveling of
things gone terribly wrong happens.

The mowing continued with scattered thoughts of crows and running, hunter
and prey, harrier and sparrows; a degree of innocence raped; layers of
horror, shock, and awe comes in on now blanked faces--nothing prepares the
minds for this. Nightly news always has a remote for separation. Real
life has no remote, no pause, no replay--only things that interrupt for
good or bad with little, or no, forewarning.

The cheapened price of life and lives in today's world fails to inure us to
this the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the unbelievable, the totally real,
and just as totally unreal.

There is no reset button, only pictures that freeze pain, agony, and hope.
A precious few are helping. The ordered chaos of triage and helping hands.
Most can't help. Most can only watch, numbly ignoring the general and
imprinting details whose horror will block many sunrises.

On 9/11 I came in from a morning's run and turned on the television to
see the weather forecast. I never saw the weather. There was an airplane
crashing into a building.

Boston barely intruded on my watching Jupiter and the moon last night. I
could see the Pleiades and tried to recall the seven names. Tonight I am
sorrowful for those harmed by the senselessness of man and, like that day
when I could not see the weather forecast, tonight I will not be able to
see the beauty of the night sky.

This afternoon, as on that September morning in 2001, I looked eastward and
wondered why. It isn't like I will find an answer. It will not matter who,
if anyone, they catch. The testimony, if any, won't fill the void in the
wounded hearts. There will be no words of explanation that a soul will
understand. There will be no words to lessen the hurt and the wondering why.