I don’t want to engage. Atrocities piling on atrocities, no end in sight, and I suppose I’m old enough to think this will not change things, if it has not by now.
The Princess is full of youth and fire, the same fire I remember from my own teenage years. When I thought the world could be burnished, made better.
There’s not much one can do, though. Small incremental changes, mostly centred around the people in one’s daily life, are the best one can hope for. If aging (what little of it I’ve done, and note I don’t call it maturing, that’s a Step Too Far even for me) has taught me anything, it’s that being decent to one’s immediate sphere is, for most of one’s life, all one can do.
Do I want to save the world? Well, yes.
Do I think it’s possible? I…don’t know. I haven’t edged over into “no” yet. But the more I see of profit and power dancing on the backs of the bruised, and of people being seduced into working against their own interests, well, it weighs on one.
It may not be possible, but the urge still exists. I nurture it, a tiny red seed, all that remains of the deep, endless fire of my youth when I still thought miracles were possible. Before I found out that miracles are more luck amid thankless hard work than anything else.
Still, it’s a coal, and I keep it banked and safe inside me. Someday it might start a forest fire…
…but until then, it will keep me warm.