Tree with two shadows

Frost's road diverged into the wood so long ago as to have disappeared.

Now I read a writer who treats human nature as if it's nature itself, where one embarks on a journey from one long held political belief to a newer one, having seen that the old would not do, seeing that its policies and actions, which by now had a long history of not working on behalf of the people, must be abandoned if more humane goals were ever to be achieved. And yes, there are moments where the old ways are missed, even longed for, and times when I come to think I was misled at the very beginning.

And so the part of me that doesn't want to be understood, that sees misunderstanding as the lingua franca of our age in the arts, politics, etc.etc. in virtually everything we touch and are touched by, gathers greater and greater power as my reading preference shifts back and forth from creative non-fiction to fiction, from The New York Times to W.G Sebald.

I start to wander around the city, through the botanical gardens, up the busy street to the bookstore, past the bagel shop, the store where they advertise shoes that are 'good for your feet', wondering who works there, what kind of life they have, if they are happy and so forth. As I age I make more of an effort to understand others, and my heart grows exponentially.

Then one night I have a progressive dream in which I'm the subject of an HBO special featuring politicial activists with disabilities. In my solar-powered wheelchair I'm shown going door-to-door in a disadvantaged neighborhood somewhere in central California. There's very little access--no wheelchair ramps, high curbs and so forth--and therefore I'm denied entree to over half the houses I'd hoped to canvass on behalf of the good-hearted Democrat incumbent, a nice man who raises free-range cows on a ranch just outside his district.

I start my own protest movement, gathering national political attention, forming a center-left coalition of concerned progressive citizens and naming it APDA (The American Political Disabilities Actiongroup). I file a class-action lawsuit, and my case goes to The Supreme Court where it's heard by a bunch of frat boys wearing black robes. I win--the conservatives on the bench outnumber the fascists 5-4--and am awarded a brand new Schwinn bicycle with white sidewall tires.

Unable to ride the bike, due to my disability, I donate it to the Boys and Girls Club of Mendota, Ca.

Tree with two shadows, Mendota, Ca., February 29, 2020. Photo by author.