Wickaninnish in blue.
We are all one, sing the beings of earth,
their song wafting through the forest
and along the shore.
But we stay too noisy to hear their song.
We are not solitary waves.*
We are a drop of ocean; and we are
ocean. We are small, but many,
and are learning late to walk
with soft footprints, to take
and to restore with careful hands.
We walk in fragile beauty with blind eyes.
We accept unthinkingly all that
Mother Earth so generously gives,
even as the planet heats,
birds fall from the sky,
and the life-giving trees
keep coming down.
Flames lick across forests and towns;
terrified wild ones flee, and
whole towns burn.
The sea warms; octopuses
walk out of the waves to die upon the beach.
"Too hot!" gasps Salmon, as small fry
shrivel on dry riverbeds. "Too hungry!" says Bear,
thin and gaunt along the water's edge.
"Too many of you!" says Wolf,
habitat gone, and with no place to hide.
We are waking in the middle
of a nightmare, learning late:
we are all one;
what happens to one will
happen to us all.
We walk in fragile beauty, with blind eyes.
What we need to change is
for Brendan's challenge at earthweal: Interdependence.
* A line from the song "Solitary Waves" by the wonderful Wyrd Sisters.
A man from Lytton being interveiwed on the news about his flight through the flames from his town that burnt to the ground that night, said "We're the canary in the cage. It's coming for us all." And still corporate criminals have such control over the government that politicians mouth empty platitudes and do not take the strong and immediate actions needed in our existential and very evident crisis.