I am feeling the melancholy weight of human inconstancy: what people say and don’t mean, what they mean and don’t say. Or what they seem to mean earnestly one day but somehow not the next, or say with great conviction, only to soon recant. It feels painful, this dissonance, the shifting sand of what people say and what they actually do.
I should take it in stride, but my heart objects. I’ve been human long enough to accept the faithlessness of our kind, yet if I’m grumpy or sleepy — or, really, any of the dwarves but happy — it can be disheartening. I want us to be nobler than we are. Steadfast. So that we might trust each other, and in that trust, find encouragement to love.
I didn’t realize how sad I was feeling until the robins disappeared. They have been nesting under my garage eaves for several years; last summer, I watched a mated pair…
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