Leaving Signs
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Hello friends On one of my walks, I encountered chalk art on the sidewalk. It’s not uncommon, in neighborhoods where children live, to find scraggly ghosts of hopscotch grids, or flowers, or rainbows at one’s feet. This time, it was a pink and yellow heart. I smiled, paused, and snapped this photo: That heart stayed with me, though, because this heart was not just evidence that someone had given a child some chalk to while away a bit of time. No. This chubby chalked heart was a connection to every human throughout millennia, who had made a mark upon the world. The running animals in the Chauvet cave. The chalk horses of England. The rock paintings of the southern hemisphere… Humans created what they saw and left those marks for others to see. We still leave marks for one another. And in precarious, sometimes terrifying times like these? Those marks are ever more important. I think of the chalk marks hobos and rail hoppers left for one another. This was a coded system, letting others know where there was an angry dog, or a kind person, or work, or a safe place to camp. The child who drew that chalk heart likely doesn’t know about any of this, but they made a mark all the same. And I found that mark, and it reminded me that there is love in the world, and hope. Every snatch of song, or sticker on a stop sign, or social media post, or text message is a mark. Some are longer lasting than others, but all of these are ways we attempt to connect to each other. Every mark is a way for us to say, “I am here. And I’m checking to see if you are still alive.” That’s what this weekly newsletter is for me, as well. And every photo I post on social media. Every book I send out into the world. This is how we remind ourselves that, no matter what happens, we are human. And we want to connect. Thanks for being here — Thorn
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T. Thorn Coyle
Hello friends, It’s a rainy summer solstice here in beautiful Portland, Oregon. The sun is hiding, but, as I move my way around the city, I still see all the ways in which things shine. There are roses in full bloom everywhere. People don’t call this Rose City for nothing. Some roses are fragrant, others, not so much. But each flower is gorgeous in its own way, whether pink, red, yellow, or white. What else is shining? The glint on a crow’s beak. Rain on the sidewalks. People. Yeah. People....
Hello friends, These are tough days, aren’t they? At least, they are for anyone paying attention to the world. In Portland Oregon where I live, a dedicated group of activists have been holding it down outside the ICE facility. This is a privately owned building, and another group of activists is pressuring our city council to revoke the lease, so ICE does not have a holding and staging area in our sanctuary city. Especially not next to a school and apartment buildings. Last night, the...
Hello friends, Last week, I talked about encountering foxglove on a city sidewalk, and asked how your heart was. But the foxglove also got me thinking: Who first figured out it could be used to help with heart disease? I’m always amazed at the ancestors who figured these medicines out. Who would think that these lovely pink bells would be useful for more than their beauty? Who first figured out we could cure olives and eat them? Who was it that experimented enough to know that the bark of a...