melissaahowells
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I wonder about the weather not the social climate that can be a big enough worry the changes of the seasons how they used to be predictable and how that was in itself comforting in the Midwest there were the four seasons one would follow the other and each had their place things to look forward to and know they would be there in each season just like comfortable friends and reasonable expectations winter could be long but there would be snow globe snow falls and blizzards that howled but were comforting and also mysterious reliable boots and a good warm coat were a fact of life as well as dreaded black ice I fed the birds and squirrels in the park and made tracks there like was a snowshoe hare spring was exceptional an eruption of joy in people who frequently wore shorts and sandals as soon as the weather turned 60 the profusion of life and activity the cheerfulness in the song of the first robin crocuses and daffodils dancing in zephyr-like breezes and a gentleness to the air and in people's faces ah...warmth is coming, at last... summer meant the baring of skin the making of vows for some the promise of reunions and picnics and unending blue skies and the laze of long days and the heights that grass and weeds and corn could grow especially by July the time seemed to creep but by August it seemed to fly September seemed a poor joke sitting at my desk and sweltering when I would be much happier outside and fall harvesting the garden canning the last of the tomatoes and making jam and jelly and cracking into the first summer jar of dill or bread and butter pickles the honking of south bound Canadian geese in lengthening nights and how trains sounded further and further away as their horns echoed through the crisping air the deliberating trudging through piles of damp leaves carving pumpkins and baking their seeds being the character or the person you always wanted to be no one know who you were underneath the makeup, the mask, the sheet the quartet of seasons predictable the annual cycle completed to be over and over repeated not anymore the rising temperatures the seven billion people the extinction of species the calving of ice bergs the islands of plastic the numbers of cellphones the fewer the conversations in real time the technology outstripping human grip on humanity and light speed at which is nearly profanity unpredictable now like the weather look at our current calamity separated from one another maybe just maybe we might crave the simple life once again. this is more or less a rant and not a poem read it or don't read it....if you choose to read my stuff you have well over 800 choices. LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM/RANT AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED POET/AUTHOR/WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED REGISTERED SITE TITLE MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD Vote for this poem |
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