Walking in the rain

I went to Kickapoo this afternoon.  It was cold and gray and drizzling; it was glorious.  A hundred yards south of the bridge at the main entrance, I stood on a sandbar and looked at a scene that felt so much like I was up in Minnesota that I almost expected to see a moose.  Then the thunder went boom overhead, the drizzle became a downpour, and I got drenched.  (I'd left my wallet in the car against this chance, so no harm done.)  It was grand.

My thoughts ran wild with profound insights into the human condition, mostly forgotten by now.  Nature, even the little scraps we haven't managed to ruin yet, is wonderful and nurtures the soul.  All the misery we've managed to surround ourselves with we create with our society.  Of course we come to this pass because all our evolution has shaped us to survive in a brutal world.  We're not wise enough to realize that we suddenly have enough wealth that we don't have to live as though we're always on the ragged edge of starvation.

It's easy to imagine a better world.  It's not even that far fetched to believe that better world could be even though the people in it were still flawed.  But when I try to figure out how to get from here to that better world, that's where I despair.