The thunder with its rumbling tummy has finally been fed,
It is tired after playing catch with lightning across the sky.
Clattering over rooftops of houses and up lanes of towns,
Like a herd of invisible horses hooves trampling the clouds.
Bursting them open with a blinding light of purple haze,
That caused the rain to fall in muted teardrops like a clown.
Touching the hearts of windowpanes and soaking humans,
As curse the games up in the sky for leaving them so wet.
But a sick man from his hospital bed joins in the silent tears,
As his fevered brain calms again and counts his blessings.
In the woodlands trees stretch out their branches so wide,
Hoping to score points by catching the drops to its leaves.
Where as the deserts beg and plead for just one drop to fall,
Like a miracle prayer to someone who lives beyond the sky.
Cows out in fields turn their noses upward silently inhaling,
A perfume that comes after a storm that reassures all is well.
The farmer’s daughter shuts her curtains for the final call,
As the thunder goes to sleep and will play again another day.
Maybe as our environment is dominate by shades of grey and red that are rarely seen in the natural world we have learnt to adapt to this new environment. Unlike those in parts of Brazil to Borneo, which live untouched by outsiders and live in tune with an environment have no need for human manufactured medicines, supermarkets that sell everything and anything, and a welfare state that is meant to support those in a vulnerable position in life. It is impossible for their numbers to grow beyond the level which their environment is capable of supporting. They are interested in preserving as much of their environment as they can because otherwise their ability to support themselves would be lessened and their numbers would decline, with a special bond with their environment that is very different to our own.
However, many of us see them as ‘backwards’ and how we live as civilised. Let us pause for a minute to consider how crazy that really sounds. We no longer see food coming out of the ground, being caught out at sea, or living in a field eating grass. Ask a child today and they will tell you our food comes from Lidl to Walmart. Our attitude is to shrug our shoulders and say ‘what does it matter’, it all goes the same way in the end. The sea is massive, so a little bit of toxic waste won’t matter. The sky is even bigger – who cares if we pump a little methane into it? Plenty more sky where that came from. Doesn’t matter if the harvest is failing in Africa, we still get our bananas or pineapples from Latin America and the Caribbean. Cannot be bothered to cook tonight, we’ll just get something to cook in the microwave. Now perhaps we should reconsider who are the crazy and backwards ones!
Lilly of the valley ring out all along the river bank as the daffodils nod their heads like jaded heavy metal fans to a new beat but young tree branches sway back and forth like teenagers at their first gig. The sun shines and paints the sky in a blue of 50 shades and clouds gather like sheep in the fields. River waters run past hearing stories and songs from the birds to bees as it goes by but never stop long enough for the endings. Generation after generation this is the way the movie went, well until now that is.
Ragged men and plastic women walk on by oblivious to the songs and stories around them. For theirs are not those of their ancestors but ones repeated from words and pictures seen and heard on black boxes; as false as a rabbit laying chocolate eggs and lies spinning in quicksand. As young cyborgs cling to handheld blocks with screens to create their own tales and music that are just as false and fake as those from the black boxes. Creating new worlds but do not know the script of fate is already written.
How long until the songs of nature are replaced forever with auto tuned cover versions by the cyborgs and will anyone notice in a decade or more? Pictures of their ancestors are mere images stored in clouds in cyberspace but nobody dares look at the sky’s clouds as chemicals fell poisoned many. Stories that nobody alive now remembers how as it was before, rewritten and spun so many times now so are accepted as truths and history of this planet but not the one many fought and died to try to preserve for them.
The world is always changing as the Earth spins on its axis with few prepared to pole dance at the north or south. Human song is a symphony by a group of composers but not the only one on the planet. cats and dogs, flowers and forests, sing too, just listen. There are stories written down by the birds and bees to the trees and mountains engraved in an ink that is not invisible. Humans stop trying to direct and act this movie, it’s not the role for us, grab the popcorn and enjoy the journey to the fullest.