Seems like the longer I spend in this world, the less I understand it. How people treat each other: violence, hunger, starvation of children, abuse of women, robbing of resources meant for others. Leaders that keep humanitarian aid from their people. Deliberately bombing hospitals and schools.

Many of these atrocities happen in places where there’s not much there, as it is, never mind making it worse.

Why do people do that to each other? There must be a gain in it for somebody, but the cost of the gain seems more destructive than the benefit — that’s for certain. How does starving people make life better? Don’t violent people know they’re not as evolved as peaceful ones? It’s a mystery I’ll never understand.

Then I spend time with my granddaughter, and she jumps into the world with enthusiasm, curiosity and let’s have fun. She has innocence I no longer have. She is pure while I’m stained. I need my granddaughter; she is Hope. She returns to me something I’ve lost.

JACK COEY

Keene

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