Quite privately/(just you and me)/I ought to be /a better bee.

Martha dearest: I know, I know. I left you cold and now I’m back, leaning on your sweet shoulders.

The Humanity Initiative aims to end war by January 2020. It begins with something universal and easy: the ancient, relaxing tradition of coming together to sip tea.

No, this is not a Valentine and you knew this was coming. It’s over. I’m leaving you, taking the noon ferry tomorrow. Let’s make it easy for each other. I’ll be on South Beach at dawn for our last goodbye.

You used to be my favorite without a wink of doubt. “May, the unsurpassable Vineyard May,” I would effuse to mere mainlanders, “riding ashore on perfect waves, your velvet breezes and widening warmth soaking into our bones, your light awakening across greening pastures, emerging leaves holding the softest hues, the pitch and sway of the land still visible through the trees, each day spectacularly tuned to early birds laying their claims and rebuilding their lives.”

Amazing May, month of easy metaphors, making each of us a poet.

A five-year-old girl, wildly happy to be on South Beach with her mom and dad on a sparkling summer afternoon, chases her shadow down the strand. Suddenly her screams shatter the tranquility. She crumbles to the sand, terrified at sudden, intense pain. Her parents rush to her aid, wide-eyed and shocked. Penetrating the sole of one tiny foot is a large jagged shard of green glass. In trauma and disbelief, they tear to the hospital, intent only on immediate help for their desperately crying child. Would she ever run carefree down a beach again?