first draft

by essayan hart

dear friends, family, strangers….

in the event of a solar flare, or any unnamed catastrophe, leaving us without modern amenities, this is where you will find me:

a courier arrives at a strangers door, by bicycle, bearing a letter from a distant loved one.  she asks only for a small bite to eat, or a handful of seeds.  she is dirty and tired, but kind and well worn.  she will not harm you, she is cultivating peace. if she carries a shotgun, it is for hunting, but she will defend herself, her bicycle, her water storage and ukulele, if provoked. there are farms nearby where people know her name, but she is only as safe as your kindness and gratitude will allow.

she will sing you a song, if a song is what you need. when she is too tired, she will cross some stretch of earth to return to a homestead somewhere.  you might never see her again.  she loves you.

she will have little, and you might have less.  accept her paltry offerings, and she will learn survival with you, even in a moment, if you allow it.  her feet will hurt, and she will cry sometimes.

as your children grow, she will remember their names, and carry them with her.  eventually she will take root, gardening rooftops in a small crowded city, and she will help it to find itself whole.

she will think of her family often, and with great hope for their survival and happiness.  do not imagine that she has forgotten you. she never will.

all in light,

ps. ironic, isn’t it? writing this letter to a machine.  we will laugh about it someday.