I have never seen a tiny bird caught in the gust of a strong wind. But I can picture it fluttering and stuttering against the wind, trying to make sense of what is happening to her and to her world and trying to see with all the dust in her eyes and the resistance against her wings. So vivid is the image because so akin is our plight. A thousand times I have buried my words deep down my throat and shoved them where they can’t be heard, touched or felt. And a thousand more times my words have ebbed slowly into oblivion. It is indescribable. It is maddening. It is gut-wrenching for me to let even one syllable escape the rigidity of my lips. I don’t know if I will be heard or if I will be tossed aside like millions of insignificant voices. But I need to write this, for if I don’t, I think I will go insane, utterly, gradually.