As a Christian I would argue that it is impossible to change sex or gender. I would never support puberty blockers or surgery for someone who wishes to change what they were given, a normal functional body.
The UK is finally coming around. David Bell, former president of the British Psychoanalytic Society has written a piece in The Guardian (hardly a right-wing rag). He finishes by saying:
“In years to come we will look back at the damage done to children with incredulity and horror.”
But will we hold people accountable for that horror?
A few days ago I spent some time in the area near Fort Apache Indian Reservation, Arizona. Here is a late morning shot of Corduroy Creek. This meandering creek isn’t clad in striped textile but runs through a landscape that is every bit as textured. It’s a place where the high desert meets pine forests. And a river runs through it. (Apologies to Norman M.)
The trees with the striking white bark that stand out against the rugged backdrop of Corduroy Creek are Arizona sycamores. These are rather grand trees that can be easily recognized by their mottled bark, which peels away in patches to reveal a creamy, almost ghostly underlayer. They are often found near streams and rivers in Arizona, as they prefer the moist, well-drained soils these environments provide.
Now, for the greenery – those robust, ever-present fellows are likely to be a mix of juniper and pine trees, staples of Arizona’s higher elevation flora.
Meet Cecil and Mateo, the two saguaro cacti with a sense of adventure that’s, well, prickly at best. Cecil, the taller one, has aspirations of being a stand-up comedian, though his jokes tend to be a bit dry. Mateo, on the other hand, fancies himself an intellectual, pondering photosynthesis and the existential plight of being rooted in one spot for centuries.
Now, they’ve been toying with the daring idea of crossing Tortilla Flat before nightfall. They’ve even drawn a map in the sand with a fallen ocotillo branch. However, there are a few… ‘sticking points’, shall we say.
Firstly, Cecil is quite concerned about leaving behind his cherished rock collection. He’s quite convinced they’ve started to take on his personality, which mostly involves being hard and stationary. Mateo has spent the better part of the afternoon trying to calculate the logistics of their journey, but given that their top speed is zero miles per hour, the math is rather discouraging.
There’s also the matter of the wildlife. Cecil is deathly afraid of tarantulas, and he’s convinced he saw one don a tiny backpack this morning, indicating a possible mass arachnid exodus.
Lastly, as the sun dips below the horizon, Cecil and Mateo realize they’ll stand there, side by side, a pair of vegetative visionaries contemplating the desert before them, and decide that perhaps the greatest adventure of all is surviving another scorching day in the wilds of Arizona, living life on their own terms – stationary and stoic.
