Keeping Track - May 16 2025

 

Keeping Track

May 16 2025



Like the arctic dwellers

who have 40 names for snow

we are connoisseurs of rain.

Light drizzle

scotch mist

a little spit now and then;

cloudburst, downpour, torrent.

Or an all-day rain,

like the 40 days

Noah warned them of.

Thunderstorms, of course,

and those muzzy days

when rain threatens

but never quite comes.

Cloud

suspended overhead

encloses us,

and we feel protected

beneath its dark underbelly

of pleated grey.

Fog rolls in,

unfurling from the coast

and across the rugged land,

hugging its contours

and setting down to stay;

as if this gauzy vapour

had sufficient weight

to anchor it there.

Our people are pale

and melancholic.

Sunny days confuse us,

and big blue skies

leave us feeling exposed;

ill at ease

complaining about the heat

as we squint and blink our eyes.

My raincoat

hangs on its usual hook

amidst the ponchos, slickers, and anoraks

dripping dry.

My sou’wester hat

is a bright yellow splash

against earth-tones and camouflage.

Gumboots

stand at attention

on the long rubber mat;

weary soldiers

in weathered uniforms

tested by war.

Right now, it's pissing down hard.

Shower?

Teeming?

Cats and dogs?

As if names matter.

As if I had to answer

for correct nomenclature.

As if keeping track

could change the weather

make it wetter

or nature care.