There is a world map in the hall at my kids' school that has a novel vantage point. Africa is in the middle. North America is to the side. I had not noticed before that my view of the world was egocentric, but with the fresh presentation I realized that it was. Maybe the rest of the planet is not just a subplot to the story of me. 

Several people gave me compassionate replies about the fox who took  my Silkies. They helped me see that the picture is wider than my front yard. The fox is most likely a devoted mama with a pair of hungry kits waiting for breakfast. Probably she has struggled through the last few weeks of cold, and the scarcity of food. It is not her intention to kill for killing's sake. 

I can even take comfort in the awareness that my chickens had a great life. The chicks were actually hatched and raised by their mama for ten weeks which is more of a family life than that of the majority of chickens in America who live and die alone in a cage. 

One of the tasks of our sojourn on this earth is to believe that others have their story too. This week my small town has been pummeled by the pain of neighbors whose lives include suffering. A diagnosis, a house fire, a death have all broken some of the girders that keep each of us in the center of our own universe. 

Glass is formed from sand by a combination of heat and pressure. Pain begets pane. 

Maybe we too can become translucent.