Murder is a dark cloud

Sometimes a chill wind blows. Sometimes a cloud passes over a full moon, plunging us into a world of darkness.
The slayings of two innocent people in rural Fort Recovery have had the same effect.
Those of us who live in the American Heartland like to think of ourselves as different from our worldly, jaded, urban cousins.
We tend to take things like trust and safety and security in our own homes for granted.
Then something like this happens, a cloud passes over a full moon, and our world isn’t so safe and secure anymore.
And until someone is held responsible for the crime, that new reality will be with us.
It’s an uncomfortable fit, like wearing someone else’s clothes.
But for the time being — and maybe forever — the new reality takes precedence.
We lock our doors.
We are less trusting with strangers.
We are more observant, even noting license plate numbers when something seems out of place.
We check on our neighbors, keeping a protective eye on them the way we would in a blizzard or some other natural disaster.
Except this disaster is man-made, not the product of low pressure systems or storm fronts.
But the impulse is the same.
The paradox of this very human response to violent crime in a rural setting is that we are simultaneously less connected to our fellow human beings — trusting less and being suspicious more often — and more connected to them as we keep watch on those who might prove vulnerable.
How long will this edgy, nervous, anxious feeling hang on? That’s anyone’s guess.
An arrest would make a difference, of course.
But this could be with us for a long time.
A cloud has passed across the face of the full moon, a chill has been felt in our bones, and it’s going to be awhile before life can go back to the way it was before. — J.R.[[In-content Ad]]