Bloom Where You Are Planted

We stand here, behind this crispy, dead tree
Whispy charcoal crisped branches seem to hide us.
We are amazingly protected, somehow.
As we hide, there is joy in our hearts,
Yet, also horror and sadness for what is playing out on the smooth plane below us.
A mass of humanity treads the barren wasteland.
There is a grayness all about them.
They are grey!
We hear moaning and sadness, and it seems that there are thousands of them,
Maybe millions, wailing for themselves and for the predicament that they have found themselves in.
We both suddenly begin to weep in utter loss and sorrow
For these suffering sojourners.
We search the barren landscape, and we see that there is a never-ending wailing mass of humanity.
Miles and miles of grey, crying people.
We start to sweat and wonder how these people came to walk on the dead plane below us.As we watch, we realize this:We are here to witness this.
We are here to observe this.
We are here to do something about this.

wolfy.