New Hopelessness

Over the years, I have tried my hand at blogging several different times. Often, I just don’t have the mental discipline or creative stamina to follow through with these plans. I have started and subsequently stopped at least 3 different times. I anticipate this current iteration to follow a similar pattern. HOWEVER! Until I stop, I want to take a look at the Hornets through the lens of expected losing.

We all know that the Hornets will lose a lot of games. We all know that the front office, top to bottom, has questions concerning its competence. We also know that there are 4-5 players in the coing NBA draft that are expected to be in competition for the #1 pick. We ALSO know that they Hornets have, on their roster, some very young and possibly interesting players. So, my efforts for the early part of the season will be focused on the future, both on and off the floor, of the Hornet’s organization.

I hope to write some more introspective pieces about the nature of losing, about the nature of improving personally while despairing collectively, and about the mental drain of repetitive loss. We shall see, we shall see.

The Love of a Tree

The Love of a Tree

Branches, rallied by currents,

Skittered and scratched across the glass

That was barring their way.

Did they unconsciously attempt to break the molten sand

Or did the inside hold a certain attraction for the animate tree?

We know that trees send their roots deep into the group

To find water. Their blood and their essence.

We know that trees spread their leaves to the sun

To find air. A breath for the body.

Is it possible that rees send their branches to find life?

For what is the point of a spindly twig in spring

Without a singing bird to perch?

What is the point of an overarching bough

Without a squirrel to use it as a launching pad

For acorns and its own body?

And what is the point of a mighty trunk and sturdy branches

Than to provide rest for a sticker fingered wanderer

Who wants a cool place to rest?

The trees look for us,

One dropped acorn

One struggling sprout

One whipping switch

One unbending tower

One slump shouldered ancient

One hollow shell at a time.

Pressing out from the center to find us.

The only thing that can stop their search

Is the animosity and callousness of their goal.

The object of their affection will affect their destruction.

When they reach arms out to us, we trim them

When the next generation grows closer, we cull them.

And when they die, we dispose of them in a hellish grave.