This Moment: 8:43 P.M. April 26, 2012

I am watching the rainstorm from inside my car. Otis Redding is singing about wasting time. The trees that line the drive look like a mob hidden in shadows, slapping the ground violently with their collective arms then raising them upwards in a kind of orchestrated dance of hysteria. Rain on the windshield creates a kaleidoscope of twirling colors. I turn off the car radio when the news hour arrives. I can hear no more of the man sentenced today, his war crimes, the references to another litany of horror from another time, and its criminals. Lightening scissors the sky. The trees are illuminated in the flash. I cannot help but think we are all hidden in the shadows.

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