White Recluse

I look out on a forest.

The leaves on the trees gleam, almost neon.

A breeze that swells and eases turns shadows and sunlight into an eternal kaleidoscope; swaying and jumping, lively, then still, as if between breaths.

My air conditioning kicks on. It hums, as steady as sunlight. So silent, as if not even there; I would know it -- almost -- only by its absence.

What harm?

More blood in Iraq today and the country I inhabit closes itself to curiosity and truth. Leaves are just things stuck on trees and the the wind is what happens when cooler air meets warmer air. Why know more than that?

Hot?

Turn on your air conditioning.

Cold?

Turn on your heat.

Bored?

Turn on your television.

Lonely?

Go to the mall.

Tired?

Sleep soothed by the hum of your air conditioning.

Hungry?

Go to the refrigerator.

Our brave heroes fight for these freedoms. Our brave soldiers close their eyes and ears and pull the trigger. Our brave leaders say "hooray!"

My brave neighbors wave their flag and glare at me.

They have one of those W04 stickers on their car.

I want to take a ball-peen hammer to it, cracking the window right where the sticker attaches.

I'm sure they would notice that.