I found a thrush lying on my brick walkway yesterday, curled up under a bank of windows. A small force of birdsong now silenced. I stroked the soft brown feathers along her back and the perfect speckles across her breast hoping she would awaken but her slim feet were curled and her eyes unblinking. I said a little prayer and wrapped her in some soft tissue, her broken neck lolling to the side. With bird flu rampant she had to be disposed of in a sealed bag, not my traditional burial: I lay awake that night envisioning that she had woken up trapped, flying frantic against the plastic, dark coffin. Not a good night’s sleep. Sorry for the metaphor on how I am feeling.

This tiny loss sent me skittering into overdrive anxiety. The daily tally of disappearances has no end right now, reports stacking up from dawn-to-dusk about losses/cuts/firings/arrests all with chaotic, overreaching unconstitutional justifications. We are losing autonomy, female/gender/race rights, citizenship rights, climate and science essentials. Voices I count on are falling silent or are compromised in the confusion of this administration. I like to think that my silence is intense, focused observation, gathering facts, even if the facts keep changing. But my silence could be interpreted as compliance. Then what?

It is the then what that needs to be addressed: do I become an activist on the street, an angry pen, begin to shout? Do I fade into my privilege as a white woman with the luxury of hiding? Do I keep the news on 24-7 and greet each day enraged — do that for four years and still watch helplessly on the sidelines as our constitution is dismantled?

I think a little of everything has to be undertaken. And now.

What will you tackle? What tiny/big loss will break you and send you into the street, into the press, into your book group or your Mahjong group or your pickle ball game your coffee klatch your church your synagogue your office your walking group a town meeting a hearing a forum with your elected official? To be a voice — to keep alive what is essential and good and kind and human and smart — we need each other. Yes, you and me, whether our politics agree or not.

A tiny bird once soared and sang and ate the bad insects and brought me great joy. She counted on this planet and then she died. It is the small deaths that will add up and honestly, I have children and a grandchild to think about, a legacy to hand over which looks like shit right now.

Think about what you will do. Hopefully you are doing it. Tell me. I am listening.

It is a serious thing.