Bricks

(Written in response to a prompt on violence or peace)

Bricks
In homes, they are mud, dried hard to build.
Difficult to destroy.
On paths, one finds them trapped in grass,
paving walkways to success.
In triathlons, call them a multiple workout.
Swim, bike, run.
Run, swim.
Bike, run.
Run, bike.
Whatever works. You got it.

The world is on the verge of collapse.
Famines abound.
Natural disasters multiply.
The financial crisis keeps spreading,
as checks bounce all over town.
In these times, bricks built out of mud, remain dry, too hard to be destroyed.
Can they pave a path to peace, to health, to new wealth?

Chicks chirps and kittens meow.
The elder hen bellows as she lays an egg in the coop.
Bunny fluffs her feathers coquettishly,
and the rooster looks away with a yawn.
Soon the melting snow will dissolve into mud, mud that is soft and pliable.
Mud that will allow fingers to poke holes into earth,
to drop in the seeds of new growth.
From the richness of muck emerges new wealth:
carrots, turnips, and beets.
Radishes, kale, collards,
and rhubarb.
Asparagus spears shoot up.
And that is only the beginning.