Mixing the Poetic Asides prompt to write a “senses” poem, with my local, Stroll of Poets prompt to write a “climate” poem. I recently read an article about how people in my province are the least likely in Canada to “believe” in climate change. This is so disheartening to me, as while I believe we can debate strategies on how we operate in the world now, and plans for better environmental practices, climate change is real. And I worry for the future of our beautiful planet if we continue to spin in a cycle of denial, rather than take action together.
Assessing the Patterns of Variation
You wouldn’t think it’d be possible
in my (relatively) short life.
Firs would know better,
the dry soil at their base.
The petrichor hanging
less often in the air,
the welcome quench of rain
climbing their roots,
sparkling in drops
that dangle from their sharp needles
like earrings. Can they taste it?
The small changes, over seasons and years,
drawing the facts
in concentric circles
at their core.
It might not be evident, they say
until you look at the evidence.
Some patterns are best seen close-up,
under a microscopic lens,
but I know I’ve heard the change
in the summer winds, roaring.
Different than the breeze of my youth.
Breath, blowing hotter.
Dragon flare, warning.
Tree souls darkening