Bullets in the Garden

My lovely companion was watering the garden last evening. We have a bounty of tomatoes, and herbs ripe for the picking. She was poking around in the dirt and found a little baggie filled with bullets. A very unique harvest. Little shiny bullets waiting to be loaded into a gun. We alerted the cops and a bulked up young officer came and took the bag of bullets away.

We have some neighbors, kids, teenagers, young adults with lots of time on their hands. It doesn't take a major leap of deductive reasoning to figure where that little baggie may have originated. 

Forget politics or the NRA. By what logic does it make sense to live in a society where easy access to weapons is a reality? If you'd see these kids, you might think they're just kids, average kids, kids looking for trouble. Hell, yes, they are teenagers, of course they are looking for trouble. That's part of the adventure of being a teenager.

Weapons, guns loaded and unloaded, just up the ante for the kind of trouble they can get into. This is the reality in so many neighborhoods around this city. Our little neighborhood seemed sort of insulated from some of the harshness you see on urban streets, but it's an illusion. It's here too. In our backyard. In our garden. And well, there's no getting around it. You just hope those bullets don't eventually find a home.

And does that mean we should arm ourselves too? The thought crept across my mind - a little black cloud of fear. It seems sad and absurd. Part of the problem, not a solution. Our little garden holds dark, metallic secrets.