The Quilt

Since I can't sleep because centipedes will eat me, I may as well blather about the quilt.

The quilt is a visual metaphor I've been thinking of as a way to explain our common law. When I think of the law, I see a giant patchwork quilt. It has no border, there are no four corners, no tidy satin border delineating the clear edge of all that is covered. Instead there are thousands of pieces of fabric unevenly cobbled together. Some are narrow strips, some are weirdly shaped, jaggedy pieces. Some are gossamer thin while others are thick duck canvas. There are many shades of gray. In places there is no fabric at all, in others the layers are thick upon each other, bulky and inflexible. Some areas have been repaired extensively although shreds of ancient tapestry still remain. In other places the fabric of new technology shimmers and gleams.

The law is no cloak of many colors. It insulates some from the cold, cold world, but many others shiver where the drafty realities of happenstance, injustice and unequal bargaining power blow through holes and thin vestiges of protection.

New laws are narrowly tailored, each adds a new piece to the quilt, but there is no great design, no grand plan. The quilt grows organically, stunted in places, expansive in others. This is our safety net.