The weather's fine, unless you live
where wildfires burn: the flames chasing
frantic humans across the land, the animals
living and dying a terror they can never understand.
It's fine unless you live where storms and floods
are washing you away
from the place you dreamed
you would forever stay.
It's fine unless you live where storms and floods
are washing you away
from the place you dreamed
you would forever stay.
It got too hot for the crops this year
that shrivelled in the field; not enough grain
for humans, hay for horses, a poor yield.
Rivers and lakes are drying up
from too much heat.
We turn our eyes away;
we keep on keeping on,
on trepidatious feet.
from too much heat.
We turn our eyes away;
we keep on keeping on,
on trepidatious feet.
We are still moving forward,
because that is what we do,
adjusting to rapid change,
so scary and so new.
because that is what we do,
adjusting to rapid change,
so scary and so new.
Between the news reports,
that pierce our hearts and make us cry
lie the moments of our lives:
the sweet, slow waking, on a West Coast
September morning, to blue sky,
the waves calling me forth
with their forever siren song.
The tiniest wildflowers
poking from rocky cliffs are whispering:
sometimes you have to just hold on.
There is an apple orchard in my heart,
incongruously, as I live beside the sea.
My childhood resides there, underneath
the blossoms, full of dreams
that did not include all I have come to see,
or how this long, surprising journey
has fashioned me.
It is the sacred glimmers that draw me forth:
sunrises, sunsets, and the shimmering sea,
forests of ancient cedar, dusk and dawn,
the way each early morning smiles "trek on!"
These sacred glimmers are still shining here
as we hobnob our hectic way along,
still flying, driving, consuming desperately,
humming our frantic, existential song,
an earthly species that does not understand
that we belong.
I am nearing the end of the journey
at the end of the road,
with gratitude for every incandescent
glimmer life bestowed.
I would like my casket woven of seagrass
so that I can all the more quickly pass
into the welcoming, mothering,
nurturing earth, the better to have
a swift transition,
and a swift rebirth.
For my prompt on Wednesday at What's Going On? - How's the weather?
It has been a mixed bag this past summer, where wildfires raged all across Canada and the entire North West Territories. Evacuating towns from the remote north was a logistical nightmare. The graphs show wildfire levels are off the charts. The rainforest I live in has been in drought since February; it has never been so dry. We received 75% less rain than normal this year.
On August 21, California, already fighting a wildfire, was slammed with a hurricane which caused massive flooding, landslides and crumbling roads. AND there was an earthquake the same day. Hurricanes everywhere wreaking havoc, and 2035 and 2050 are far too far away as targets for lowering emissions.
Mother Earth is struggling, and the weather is how she makes it known. May humankind hear her desperate cries. As for me, I don't think I want a re-birth into a burning world. I just needed that line to end the poem. LOL.
Excellent poem, Sherry. We definitely have to adjust to rapid changes in weather because we have no other choice. Sigh. And yes, as the wildflowers hanging to the cliff would say, sometimes we just have to hold on!
ReplyDeleteI like "trepidatious." If it's not a word, it ought to be, and we ought to be more aware of feeling it about some of what's meant when the commercial media scream "change." We need to exercise more judgment about "change."
ReplyDeleteI would love to follow the mantra the wild flowers gave. The poem itself holds 'sacred glimmers'; each word so full of heart and light. Beautiful, Sherry, as always.
ReplyDeleteSherry, not sure if you have read or hear, Ontario Premier Doug Ford sat on an environmental impact report for 8 months, before releasing it yesterday. Basically, it was your poem. A hotter drier Ontario, crop failures and a lot more days of temperatures of 30°C+.
ReplyDeleteNever mind, more extreme weather, triggering floods and other environmental impacts to the province.
"an earthly species that does not understand that we belong." Love this. If only <3
ReplyDeleteO, that last verse! It's rhyme, its reason, and its heart! And that after this model, this reality and metaphor for what we must do: "The tiniest wildflowers
ReplyDeletepoking from rocky cliffs are whispering:
sometimes you have to just hold on."
Oh Sherry, keep putting your glimmer into the world. WOW.
Oh I love the apple orchard in your heart!
ReplyDeleteOooh I love the "apple orchard in your heart!"
ReplyDelete'There is an apple orchard in my heart' What a lovely line and idea. Almost Yeatsian. I wonder what those people who can't see the problems have in their hearts?
ReplyDelete"There is an apple orchard in my heart,
ReplyDeleteincongruously, as I live beside the sea," .. oh Sherry! This poem has left me so emotional ... yes we sometimes we just have to hold on! Gorgeous write!
This is a great writing, as it looks at both the universal (the climate) and the very personal (the apple orchard). I loved the expansiveness of this perspective. Well done!
ReplyDeleteYou have written of the mysteries of the weather, climate change and our human life span very beautifully here. I hope that casket you envisage is still some way off for you. Hold on there kiddo. Suzanne - wordpress blog - Wayfaring.
ReplyDeleteThis poem is full of heart and yearning - I love the segway into your childhood beneath the blossoms and your casket woven of seagrass. Compassionately written - breathtaking, really!
ReplyDeleteSherry,
ReplyDeleteYou are truly a knowledgable woman of nature, who lives and writes using the gifts found in your surroundings.
It must have been devastating for you to see the recent wildfires raging along your Pacific coastline and inland. It was certainly horrific to watch on news reports.
Flooding and other elements of weather implications, bring endless worries.
I think the saddest part is that the world was alerted to these climatic changes and their consequences, by many indigenous leaders from north America in particular. They are wise to the signs of impending disasters, but their warnings were ignored.
It's amazing that we regard a simple wallflower found in a crack of rock, as a momentary relief for nature..
A lovely poem, straight from the heart! Yes, our hearts are broken, waiting to mend. annell livingston
ReplyDeleteThere have always been weather extremes but the frequency and duration is definitely on the uptick. Summer here was a literal washout! "There is an apple orchard in my heart" sigh...
ReplyDeleteYes, I agree the summer has brought extreme weather. It been very hot and rainy. Fall is quickly approaching. The rebirth starts in the hearts of earth dwellers until then we just burn or drown in chaos. sigh...
ReplyDeleteThe weather has been disastrous for a lot of the Northern Hemisphere....and sadly climate is not automatically going to change for the better...it will get worse. So we will keep on keeping on and as for planning the casket made of seagrass...Forget it !....you are not allowed to cross the Styx before I do. I have spoken to the Ferryman and if you try it on he is sending you back on Margaret's fluffy horse :)
ReplyDeleteI truly believe all the current weather problems are caused by the elite, Sherry. Lahaina is particularly disturbing.
ReplyDeleteLovely poem, my friend.
I have been thinking a lot about climate grief lately. I worry that the rapidity of change will accelerate and that we won't be able to adapt quickly enough.
ReplyDeleteSo much sadness, yet so much truth and wisdom in your words. The apple orchid in your heart is wonderful Sherry. Your words always speak to me deeply!!
ReplyDelete