Years ago a medical examiner and I were talking about her job. There's nothing pretty about facing the multitudes of dead bodies strewn across five boroughs.
At some point it began to get to her, especially when it was a baby or a circumstance of great injustice. So she went to her boss, the big medical examiner and asked him how he got through day after day of proof that mankind could be such a miserable, murdering creature.
"I surround myself with beauty," he replied, pointing to paintings he did of roses and tulips and sunflowers.
So she found her idea of beauty, a house in the country and when she felt her soul losing out to the horrors people were so capable of, she would briefly retreat and surround herself with beauty. Then she would go back out again.
These days, the news bursting with the horrors people continue to be so capable of, the city streets offered its own beauty, perhaps not in flowers but in its own hidden cracks.
Sunday Memories of When There Were No Pictures For That Sound
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