The primroses are shivering in a corner of my local grocery store north of Boston today, just as the 50 degree thaw is predicted to plunge to 11 degrees by Sunday. The petals throw off an earthy scent and catch my eye at the end of the checkout counter. I buy ten. Any, absolutely ANY show of strength, tenacity and fortitude deserves my support right now.

I am not sure where to turn. I am reading Mariann Edgar Budde’s book How We Learn To Be Brave her basic hero’s journey in March 2020 after an encounter with Trump. I have already peppered it with post-it notes only fifty pages in. I am uncharacteristically speechless. There is an eerie quiet around town. The movie theater was empty on Monday night. But I do know that the solution is not silence. Silence is capitulation.

I cannot change the unqualified nominations, the massive firing, the frankly evil disregard of what actually runs this country, makes us safe and keeps the earth viable. I mean let’s be frank here, I did try to prevent this unqualified deconstruction of our institutions with my vote. What does holding anything together now look like?

Volunteer: food banks, drive the elderly, keep your roadsides clean, get onto a task force for clearing public land. Host forums: communication and solidarity is key to surviving the next four years. Listen to each other: what do you believe in? Teach me. Let me help you. I will make the time.

It would be easy to dial down to a small world, feed the birds, write the words, plant the lettuces, tend the sweet peas, keep my head down, create no waves. But too much is at stake.

Who needs me? Let me know; this is not a rallying cry — the pooling of resources at hand is common sense.

You know where to find me.