Spoiled By Rain
July 17 2021
Mid-July.
Our precious 2 weeks
of high summer
and they're calling for sunny and hot.
But the day feels ominous
instead of inviting.
The lake is dull, not sparkling
in the limpid summer light
we've taken for granted all along.
The air is sharp
with the smell of burning wood,
and I imagine black choking smoke
pouring from smouldering bush.
And an unbroken haze
whitish-grey
obscures the high blue sky.
I feel suspended
between easy leisure
and Armageddon,
as if the gods were indifferent
and a dire reckoning
was dangling over our heads.
I recently wrote a friend
about how long I have evangelized
for the cause of mother earth.
And how demoralized I feel,
how powerless and drained.
But now I realize
that while our civilization may crumble
the planet will survive,
if less diverse
and far more worse for wear.
That life has persisted
over asteroids and Millennia
and will by all rights muddle through.
The trees are dry
the ground is full of tinder,
while the burning forest closes in
the air greys and thickens.
Some would pray for rain;
but I am only capable
of faith in enlightenment
and the faintest hope, at best.
Which is more than you'd expect
from a confirmed pessimist like me.
As if a summer storm
will wash away our transgressions
and give us a fresh start.
As if it will pour down hard
and the lightning spare us.
A beautiful summer day
spoiled by rain.
Or, in this time of extremis
saved by it.
I stepped out onto the deck today, and it felt as if I had been transported to an alien planet. There was a feeling of threat, of something impending. Reading the daily news didn't help!
I'm reluctant to write poems that are more about advocacy and public policy than the small and personal. I'd prefer to leave the rabble rousing and argument to essays and articles. On the other hand, this is a very personal poem, and arises out of heartfelt feeling. The fact that I returned inside and immediately and sat down to write it says as much.
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