A Single Thin WIre - April 5 2023

 

A Single Thin Wire

April 5 2023

The lights flicker.

The clock stops.

An alarm pings,

the furnace shuts off.

And in the unnerving hush

the hum of the fridge

I only hear when it's gone.

A heavy wind,

and a fallen tree

on the hydro line

rocking violently.

And when it snaps

silence

darkness

cold.

My lifeline to the world

is a single thin wire

strung between two poles.

It's wrapped in some frayed black material

and droops loosely in the middle

depending on how hot it is.

Failures cascade

and a dark age descends.

Power plant

transformer

load management;

the complex apparatus

that affords my life of ease

is a black box

I've never seen

and wouldn't understand If I did.

But take for granted

and depend upon.

Did someone drink too much

the night before?

Was there a faulty code

a rusty bolt?

What about the row

of wooden poles

planted in sandy soil,

like matchsticks

or dominoes?

And today, in the storm

was it the shallow roots

dry summer

infestation of bugs?

A dead tree

falls in the forest,

and a thin black wire

lies in the snow.

My umbilicus

to life as it was

before everything changed.

When civilization depends on complex interdependent systems, there are too many vulnerable points, and a single failure cascades. This is the butterfly effect, in which small events have vastly disproportionate consequences: a butterfly flapping its wings in Borneo; a cyclone halfway across the world.

Our lives run on electricity. Yet everything we own/love/depend upon turns to junk if that single thin wire is cut.