My new neighbor worked so hard to hang the garland of peace flags in her backyard. I think it was one of the first things she did after she moved in. If you've recently moved or you remember how exhausting moving is, then you'll join me in finding this remarkable. 

My kitchen window looks onto her backyard and I was bringing a dish to the sink when I saw her hanging one side of the strand of flags from her plum tree. She was alone and was standing on a patio chair reaching up to the tree. And when I came back to the kitchen later, I saw that she had hung the other side of the garland below the eave of her house.

I think it was windy that night and the next morning I looked out my window and the peace flags had fallen from the tree-side and lay crumpled on the ground under the eave where the one side was still hanging.

And then she was out there again and this time I saw a step ladder and she did something to really secure the peace flags to the tree because they haven’t fallen since. Perhaps an eye hook screwed into the tree?
 
We recently moved, too, and my daughter became consumed with hanging lights over the deck. She kept talking about it until I finally ordered some lights and when they came I told her it was going to have to wait, that I was tired and didn’t feel like hanging them that day.

So of course she tried to hang them by herself (with thumbtacks) and they fell and a couple of the bulbs broke. My mom was visiting and she patiently replaced the bulbs and the fuse that had blown and then the three of us cleaned up the broken glass and hung the lights over the deck and my tall son made an appearance to reach a high branch. I thought the lights were kind of silly (I have much bigger things to worry about!) and actually lit up the patio too much. But then it was dusk, and I really liked them.

It's baffling, this thrust and determination to make things better, even in the smallest ways. Sometimes I am consciously participating, like my daughter, my mom, and my neighbor. And sometimes I am giving up. And sometimes I am simply baffled, stunned into silence by the impulse that (thankgod) seems to continue in the collective on behalf of us all. 

I'm thinking of Lucille Clifton's poem "i am not done yet." Have you seen the beautiful letterpress print of this poem from Expedition Press?

With gratitude,
Brianna