Walk the beach, watch the fog lift off the trees
and c̓ixʔwatsac emerge from the mist.
Sandpipers lift and swoop and move as one,
then settle on the sand for needed rest,
their little feet making busy tracks
at the edge of the sea.
We keep the dogs away.
The pace has slowed. It suits this pensioner well,
or did, until my tv, which helps get me
through the day, stopped working.
No more home reno show with my coffee.
I sit outside instead, and watch the world go by.
Sometimes it waves, and I wave back.
Now indoors is a choice between desk (work)
and chair (book). CBC Radio brings me
the news of the day, and some esoteric discussions
that make me long for my tv.
In this long time of gestation, with so much time to think,
to observe, to listen to the projections of
the accelerating climate crisis,
and to witness the dismemberment of democracy
by a crazed right wing, in this time
when we have not been in too much hurry
to notice what those in charge have been up to
when we were too distracted to see,
it occurs to me to wonder if we might use this time
to rearrange our priorities, become more mindful,
more careful, more caring. I wonder if
we might use some of this time to unite our voices
- and our actions - to demand what matters most
to our survival: lower emissions, a switch from
fossil fuels to sustainable clean energy,
moving fish farms onto land, and stopping
the insane clearcutting of old growth trees,
since there are so few forests left and,
last time I looked, we still needed trees
to breathe and keep Earth cool.
I wonder if we might, as global citizens, unite
in our demand for an end to all the hatred, wars,
killing and attacks on each other, and find our way
to simple justice and equality - the only way
to ever have peace.
I meant this poem to be about the physical things
we can do to fill in the time on our hands
in this pandemic. It turns out it's about
transformation, using this time to observe,
inwardly and outwardly, how we are living
on this beautiful planet that we love.
Perhaps, during this time of gestation,
we are unwittingly engaged
in birthing a better world.
Well. We live in hope. This poem was inspired by "Things To Do in Buffalo, Wyoming, While Waiting Out the Coronavirus" by David Romtvedt at Wild Writing. The italicized lines are his.