We are they. All of us. 7.5 billion of us. But some of us do not want the rest of us to soar. They want us grounded, permanently, by hunger, by illiteracy, by homelessness, by hopelessness. The some of us to whom I refer are ruthless. They are corrupt officials worldwide at best;  at worst, they are autocrats, tyrants, dictators--all oppressors of the first order. But they have a surprise waiting for them. There will be a revolution of love sweeping over Earth that will free all of us from the inequities and iniquities that have in truth enslaved us for millennia. Earth itself has been enslaved. Ask our air, our rills and rivulets, our streams and rivers, all our oceans. They are dying, and with them, all of us, and Earth as well. Love that all of us will shortly embrace will break the chains of worldwide oppression. Then we shall soar like a convocation of eagles.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

There is nothing but the murmur of your breathing, the moonlight
spreading its luminous light cutting through the darkness across the
white sheets. I am the keeper of the silence. You, Sarah, are the
keeper the sensuous. Now you sleep, but gently I begin by kissing
lightly your forehead, so lightly you do not move. I kneel on the bed
beside you gazing at your long, flaxen hair that the generous, silver
moon graces with its silver streams. There is nothing wrong with
silence or the darkness of the the rest of the room, a chiaroscuro by
the ghost of Giotto. I slowly pull the white sheet from your shoulders
to below your knees without awakening you, a panoply of pulchritude.
With only my eyes, I touch you. I am enraptured. In silence and darkness
and silver streams, there is no time. I am the keeper of silence, an august
post, more regal than any throne, any crown. Sleep, dear Sarah, as long
as you wish, for there is no time when we are at the epicenter of love.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

A politician makes a calculated decision.

A leader makes a moral one.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

If we could gather all the kisses we ever kissed, if we could conjure up the memories once shared, if we could answer all the questions we have now forgotten, then sitting on this sofa we could feel our distant lives.

If we had photogtaphs of happiness never taken, if we could play recordings of moans and murmurs we did not tape, if we could laugh again and cry our cries of long ago, we could live again our years of tears and joy as we hold each other on this sofa evermore.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

My years at Andover, the oldest (1778) and arguably the best prep school in the United States, were the unhappiest of my life. Emotionally, I felt ancient. All but few of the teachers were as sodden with a kind of spititual sorrow as were most of the students. And while the campus with its spacious lawns and grand architecture was breathtakingly beautiful, and the Oliver Wendell Holmes Library would have made any university beyond proud, and all the facilities were many and first-class, paradoxically, the sum of those parts deprecated the whole . Yes, I, perforce, became learned, but at an exorbitant social and emotonal cost. Tone Grant, one of the gods of our class, because he was the quarterback of our football team, a fact that got him into Yale where he was and did the same, was indicted, tried, and convicted to 10 years in prison for embezzling over two billion dollars from customers of the company he ran. Did Andover and Yale inculcate in him the perverse values that led him to prison? He pleaded innocent before his trial, but over two billion dollars are a lot of dollars to explain away. Tone died of a heart attach in prison. My years at Andover ended with a ritual. All the graduates formed a large oval on the Great Lawn as the headmaster began to pass diplomas one at a time to his left. The first graduate would look at the diploma, and if he did not see his name imprinted in gold ink on it, he would pass it to the classmate on his left until every graduate had received his diploma. While this interminable ritual was taking place, I made a silent but solemn vow:  I would never again set foot on the Andover campus. Am I  proud I graduated from Andover, you might ask? I am proud I endured it. Others did not.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

If you walk down Farm-to-Market Street far enough, you get to the Paradise Cafe, the best place in Waller, Texas to have breakfast. "Howdy. How ya doin?" says an old man wearing jeans and a cowboy shirt you have to button up instead of the conventional way with a venerable, old cowboy hat on his head. "Have a seat," he says. There is an empty stool at the counter, so you sit down beside him. "Haven't seen you before," the wizened old man says. "Where ya from? "New York City," you reply. "New York City!" the old man exclaims. "The Big Apple! What brings ya to Waller?" "I'm walking across America," you say. "You're doing what?" the old man says incredulously. "I'm walking across America," you say again. "Well, I'll be ****! I never done that." the old man says. The waitress, a pretty, young woman wearing a pigtail, says, "What can I getch ya?" " "I'll start with a cup of coffee, black." "I'll be right back," she says. "I'm 71. Got born here in Waller, quit high school, started working on a cattle ranch. Spent my whole life on that ranch. Never got married. Now the government is paying me so I can stay alive," he says. "Come in here every morning to have breakfast. Ain't she a beauty!" he says, referring to the waitress. "Sweet as she is pretty," he adds. Sally--the old man told you her name--comes back with a cup of steaming black coffee. "What would you like to eat?" she asks. "I'd like two eggs sunny-side up with a double order of hashbrowns, two sausage patties, and whole wheat toast, butter, but no jelly." "I'll get it. More coffee? "Yes, please." "Waller ain't fancy, but good people live here," the old man says. "But about 20 years ago, somebody robbed the bank. Nobody ever caught him." In a short time, Sally brings you your breakfast. It is good. When you finish eating, you pay your bill and leave five dollars on the counter for Sally. "It was nice meeting you," you say to the old man. "Likewise, I reckon," he replies." "You have a good rest of your walk across America, ya hear," the old man says. "Thanks. I think I will. Here, take this," and gives the old man a twenty. "And keep the change. Thanks for being so nice to a stranger." Then you get up and walk out of the Paradise Cafe to continue your journey.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

We need a world that is commensal.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks