Two brothers, 26 and 19, from Chechnya, planted the bombs, then, trapped, rampaged against the police, the older being shot to death, the younger caught after an intense hunt. So. People who knew them say they were "fun" and "regular" guys.  They lived in the USA for ten years. Amazing, really, how fast they were identified--and then, instead of staying low, they kill an MIT policeman, rob a grocery store, advertise themselves. What snapped in them? What were they doing? Martyrdom by cop? The younger one is wounded. Let's see what we find out.

At least, and this is hardly "least," the killers have been caught--it was intolerable, waiting, and reassuring that they were found--that part of this mystery has been solved. After such carnage, such disorder, a reassertion of that order. That is no small thing.


Another day of gray punctuated by a hopeful burst of sun--like right now--that will, I'm sure, turn gray again. I forgot about April showers, the sweet showers that Chaucer writes about that feed the flowers, make the world greener, more filled with leaves. And I have to mention--and remind myself of--the way the yellows and whites become deeper, smokier,  in the gray air.  Along with the rain last night, wind, so beneath the magnolia is a spill of pink-white flowers, a throw of broken jewels against wet green.

I realize that I'm impatient--I'm done with winter and want a consistent spring! Just look at my absurdity! Might as well want the sky to stop moving, the wind not to blow. Might as well not get up in the morning. You want to dream? Stay asleep! You want to live? Don't forget where you are! You want flowers? You get rain. Ah...the amnesia of desire.

Allan DiBiase
4/20/2013 08:36:22 am

Quite at my my perceived limits these days. Perhaps the emotional undertow of Boston colored the week? I think so. Last night before going to bed I locked the entrance door to the house. Something I rarely do. But an escape from Boston by car north on I-93 seemed possible and what better place to land than in a dark, remote area a few hours north of the scene?

At some point this week while in the car I tried to turn on NH NPR and listen a bit. But could only endure it in small bits. "Talk Radio" with people sharing their feelings and sentiments. But in the moments when I had it on I heard something that made me pull over on the shoulder of the road and cry:

A man in Watertown was interviewed. He did not sound like a Harvard professor. He sounded like an average Joe. I'm pretty sure I heard this on Friday morning when all news coverage was being preempted to cover the aftermath of the early morning fire-fight in a Watertown neighborhood.

He said something like: "I came out of the house this morning and all the trees on the street had come into bloom. It was so beautiful." And I knew he felt the deepest irony in relating that first. And so I didn't need to hear anything more. Just let myself feel what it was that I felt....


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