The truth is that I hadn’t planned on being in Boston during the No Kings Rally this past Saturday, but when I found myself ambling along Newbury Street and saw the signs of people assembling, I decided to stop by and take part briefly in the proceedings, because this country is in grave danger, whether you choose to believe the reality of that or not, and if all we have is each other, then it was important to feel that we were not alone.
I haven’t been to any rallies or demonstrations or protests since the fight for marriage equality in New York State was raging over a decade ago. That feels quaint now, as well as on the verge of endangerment. The world has gone to hell under the current President, and if you can’t see that I can’t help you.
Boston, for her part, welcomed me as she always has, with these blooms in red, white and blue – a reminder that true patriotism has no place for kings or despots or fascist dictators. As the city opened its arms, I felt the ready acceptance of a majority of people who wanted the best for each other.
A red canna burned its fiery form in the afternoon sunlight, while a white aster nodded in the breeze. A stalk of Monkshood bestowed its blue beauty in the same garden, and together they christened the Boston weekend in patriotic form.
