A muse provides inspiration, a topic or two, direction, stimulation, encouragement, and more. My muse has a conscience, compassion, empathy, outrage on occasion, and a clear sense of justice. Lately my muse has been silent. I miss the experience of putting thoughts into prose. I enjoy writing.

I feel profound sadness at the state of our nation. What has happened to stir the hornets’ nest of nastiness, violence, hatred? Where is the village that cared for me as I was growing up? Where is the civility, respect, generosity of spirit of the small town that shaped me? Is there a way through the morass that surrounds us?

Upon the altar of greed is the sacrifice of air and water, trees and wilderness, young men and women put in harm’s way in wars that forever change them. How have we come to this place? Where do we go from here?

I suspect I know what has silenced my muse. I grieve.