I took a bit of time off and saw that I can be perfectly happy without writing; nevertheless, this has been given to me and so I shall use it. As a child, I always knew about words and how wonderful they were. I knew where they belonged and what they were meant to do.

I soon forgot who I was, however; and that is probably a good thing. I seem to be in a state of finishing up, however slowly. I have used words so much that they tend to sputter out and die, like a fire slowing going out.

What remains is their meaning and what I find interesting is that meanings change at the same rate that we do. Finally, nothing is inconsequential.

The news is absolutely terrifying; human beings are evil beyond redemption unless they have a touch of humility. I look at the Ukrainian people and they look so strong, even in the tumult of being pulled from their home soil like unfinished roses. They will be okay. They will blossom wherever they find even a bit of solid ground.

However, Putin is being eaten up with the cancer of hatred. No redemption for him! The Ukrainians are proud and strong yet humble. Putin hates their goodness and their strength.

I begin to follow truth when I lost a child, but I no longer search for her. She is where she started out so long ago and she waits for me patiently and sees me going oh, so slowly over the same old ground. She wants me to take a leap and I tell her that I am leaping whenever I write. Not everyone can do this many essays and still not fully understand what they are about.

I like to mix laughter and tears and anger and envy, all possible feelings that arise in perplexed human beings.

I stand tall in my grief and am undone by any sense of control that I try to wield over it. Platitudes do me no good. Let me continue to say that I have served my time in the salt mines of grief and come out just like I entered. What is that but being myself?

Vicki is a puzzlement, but aren’t we all?

Vicki Woodyard