Reflections at a Courthouse

It was a beautiful, sunny Spring day here in the South, in a small Southern town called Woodbine at a small, county courthouse that serves way too many people with way too little Judges. And yet, here we were a mass of people streaming from the parking lot into the Courthouse. Beautiful and sunny outside, it seemed a cryin' shame as I took a deep breath of the freshly cut lawn and the hum of the lawn mower, to go inside the belly of the cold, impersonal Courthouse. It was full of wan faces, some full of anger, some full of fear, most full of indifference and bitterness. Why would anyone choose to be here as a participant, unless it was your "bread and butter?" Such a lonely place with so many windows facing the parking lot on one side, in stark contrast to the other side - a cold mass of windowless courtrooms where most of the decisions garnered finality to too much pain, or increased loads of heartache as the decision meant and beckoned to most of us, "you must come again," and "you are not finished here." In a small Southern town, in a small county courthouse called Woodbine . . . .