Weather, or Not
Mar 6 2011


The road winds higher,
a steep relentless ascent
on switchbacks, hairpins
inch-from-the-edge-of-the-cliff
asphalt,
no passing, no shoulder
and guard-rails that would snap like twigs,
plummeting over
into oblivion.

Rising into cooler air
it goes from mist
to flurries
to fat wet flakes
furiously filling the world,
an impervious wall of white.
Just 20 minutes further
and the weather changes season.
Just a few miles more
and you find yourself transported
20 degrees
of latitude north.
You should have known, of course
not to count on weather reports.

No backward, or forward
and no standing still.
This is when the atheist finds God.
When it’s stunningly obvious
the woman beside you
is the love of your life,
and your search can finally stop.
And when you can no longer deny
the illusion of safety
that makes life bearable —
the climate-controlled car
the purring engine
4 snow clogged tires.
A few square inches
of rubber on the road
that make you feel you’re in control,
but are not.

And then the storm moves on
suddenly,
a pause in the panic
a shaft of light
the voice of God.
Or just the odds
in the random indifferent world
of non-believers.

So far, depending on the day
it’s been fog, and hail
and Biblical rain.
Perhaps, it’s that you tend to forget,
or never learn, from the start.
Or believe you’re blessed, exceptional.
Or, as you always suspected
not especially newsworthy,
and tragedy happens
to other people
somewhere else.

Which at least gets you out of bed, each morning.
Or lying there, bargaining
for a few minutes more.
Listening to the weather.
Learning to ignore it.