There are days when blackbirds are more massacre than melody. When the mind becomes a clown car of self doubts. When we decorate the windowsills of our eyes with sad and wilted flowers. When we must vie for moments of peace amidst life’s unending bomb explosions of bad news. Still, there is always earth’s music rising up from the cracks in the sidewalk. The dogeared poetry of a friendly smile to be read and read again. A shot glass of hope left on the bar long after last call.