Vandalism: Let's hear from Dictionary.com: deliberately mischievous or malicious destruction or damage of property.
"Property of the Gippo Club." I tried to imagine where the name came from. From a children's book unfamiliar to me?
Colors, and a candle.
An empty IBC root beer bottle.
Very little trash on the ground, except for a fallen marker.
The candles, I hope, were used as decoration, but not lit. I should have left a note. Too much brush and dry leaves for candles.
I did not look in the backpacks. The metal pail contained dishes.
Do you see the little bathroom behind the tree?
Recently, I returned. This place looks very different now.
And someone scrawled "F*** You" over another little girl's name.
And that is probably exactly what happened. The girls probably did run home, broken-hearted, sobbing, scared, their spirits crushed. And they probably never went back. Their happy space had been violated. Now it felt dangerous to be there. What effects will ripple out into their future lives?
They had some Shalom in that happy space they had crafted. The Vandals took it away.
Let's close by reading The Second Coming, a poem by William Butler Yeats, written in 1919, after the first World War.
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?