We believe the simplest things.

The leaf will land unblemished on the earth. The neighbor, whose front yard flowers and reaches outward from so many beds of color, will welcome our arrival to this street, return our optimistic waving.  The driver ahead, turning, will alert us his departure from the road while the one behind will keep his distance when we hesitate. The patch-eyed puppy we’ve brought home to comfort our children will sleep contentedly every night in their arms beneath a frayed autumn blanket.

Our call for help will be heard. Heard and then responded to. Responded to with haste, with generosity. Our own generosity will be accepted, and appreciated. Our children will love us back no matter how we fail them. Our children will eat the foods we give them and these foods will grow them tall and lean and prosperous. Our children will be born with perfect symmetry, with teeth that chew and hands that write. That studying will make us learn, that what we learn is needed, that what we need can be understood through study, through oft-touted qualities. Like diligence, like engagement. That we contain, somewhere within, these qualities.

We believe, and we’ve a reason to, that the money earned through labor, luck or cleverness will be paid to us. The things we’ve thrown away will be removed, the things we’ve shared will be utilized. The ice will hold as it always has, the coldest weather still will come. The food we’ve bought will nourish us, the food we’ve grown will be substantial. The remedies we’ve learned will always cure us. The egg, once cracked, will hold a yolk inside transparent matter, the shell itself will have a purpose in the garden. There will be a garden because there is a patch of earth. The patch of earth will cleanse itself of all environmental poisons. Disrupting the natural order will spell imminent disaster. That imminent disaster is a bad thing. That a bad thing will make us miserable. Is irreversible. That we will not desire things that make us ill and sad and empty. The people who bring us to the world and the ones who grow beside us will have at heart our best, and most beloved, and most essential interests.
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When the castle crumbles, the villagers we’ve fed with bits of pilfered savories and small kernels of sweets will recognize it wasn’t us who starved them on the land, that all along we tried so hard to bridge the gap, to nourish them from secret stores inside our own cold pallets on the palace floor. That they will reach their arms out in a brave and human net to catch us. To catch us when the castle crumbles.

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