Three days after we adopted Paco, he planted his paws on the beach, eased backward out of his too-loose harness, and took off. He raced down the boardwalk, raced across four lanes of traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway, raced up Broadway, and raced up the five flights of stairs to Rosa Bonheur Street. It was here that I, who had just left the house for a jog, saw a small white dog hurtling toward me. Oh no! Someone’s dog got out!, I thought, followed immediately by Oh no! That’s MY dog!

He slowed down when he saw me and gave me an encouraging look, then raced up Poplar Street to the house, where he waited patiently for me to catch up. In the meantime, cars had pulled over everywhere, drivers jumping out to join bikers and walkers, all of them trying to help the little white dog so clearly without his humans.

When my brain feels like it’s about to break from the endless barrage of bad news, I think of that day and all the other uncountable acts of goodness in the world that we, knowing nothing about each other, including how we vote, instinctively do for each other.

The Good News, by Thich Nhat Hanh

They don’t publish
the good news.
The good news is published
by us. 
We have a special edition every moment,
and we need you to read it.
The good news is that you are alive,
and the linden tree is still there,
standing firm in the harsh Winter.
The good news is that you have wonderful eyes
to touch the blue sky.
The good news is that your child is there before you,
and your arms are available:
hugging is possible.
They only print what is wrong.
Look at each of our special editions.
We always offer the things that are not wrong.
We want you to benefit from them
and help protect them.
The dandelion is there by the sidewalk,
smiling its wondrous smile,
singing the song of eternity.
Listen! You have ears that can hear it.
Bow your head.
Listen to it.
Leave behind the world of sorrow
and preoccupation
and get free.
The latest good news
is that you can do it.

Click here for more information about Thich Nhat Hanh. Despite searching, I’m unable to find where this poem was first published. 
alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter