I hear it in the moaning wind moving through trees. In the dull hum of cars on the road. I hear it in people’s voices. It’s a certain sense of torment, an underlying grief. A mourning for a life source lost. Cryptic messages on the tongue unable to be deciphered because we’ve misplaced the code, the key. So we move through our days with feelings bottled up. So wanting to speak, yet fearful that what we say may land us in hot water, stuck in jail, deported, or dead in a grave. Grave days indeed, these be. Those cracks in the ground aren’t earthquake fault lines. More like you and me fault lines. All of us scratching our heads, wondering where we went wrong. Retracing our steps back to a time when words were more easily spoken. When our hearts contained the codes for those cryptic words on our tongues. A time when we could speak to one another we greater love, truth, and ease.