MORNING, STORM, and AFTERMATH

(A Day on Earth - excerpt from Writings in Science, 2nd ed.)

MORNING

The final chill from these last dark hours

Rules the land and it's realm of cold,

Covers from on high the mountains, the hill tops,

And the web like valleys winding between them.

Like gears in a clock yet green and less precise.

Suddenly the air that was firm braced

Stretches as if ready to enter.

Clouds begin to rush away,

Or dissipate into the breaking sky.

A ray of first light, then a second,

Then a small thin wavering line

Flies over the arched horizon.

These first traces are harbingers -

messengers of what's to follow.

A rosy thread outlines the landscape.

Suddenly the first barking full light

Now unchained bounces out

from peak to peak like a let loose echo.

setting off tower lamps

on every mountain top.

The separate rays, collide, merge

And weave a blanket of sunlight.

And the north-south line, now advancing

Cannot and will not be blocked or walled in.

Cannot be held down, will not be chained up.

Flows freely forward and advances with

Unlimited power in it's quiver.

If light were sound the Earth would be trembling.

The field of light piles up.

The air now turning to brighter gold

The Sun stands proud. None can oppose it.

None in sight can match it's intensity!

Clouds pull back, creatures awake.

Green plants stretch and manufacture

Their daily bread.

Insects rush to follow their footsteps

Driven by instincts of millions of years.

Birds sing out, "New day!  New day!

STORM;

The Earth settles down to growing

Under the realm of the light giving star.

The yellow heat rises back from the Earth.

Within hours day ramps up

Reaches it's apex - Spring! Spring

The wheel of fate up and up.

Suddenly from the west the first mild rumbling,

Distant noises half heard.

The wind, so long calm, now seems rattled

Chasing it's tail in smaller circles.

Then pours out a crackling of noise

Echoing across the dark sides of the mountains.

Clear sky suddenly grows quiet.

Seems like the atmosphere is a surreal work,

Seems vulnerable, seems naive,

Seems to float in between.

And ready to abandon one side for the other.

A second loud explosion of crackling electrons

And first clouds appear edging up.

Not those long diaphanous strains,

But packed with the advancing bank.

Not fluffy, cottony, pale white, and strung out

But a wall of dark green covered with

A black gray crown.

The rain rolls forward, advances steadily,

Sweeps up fragments of moisture

Into the air like shards of glass.

Strips the sky of loose water drops.

Combusts the results into a churning

furnace of cold and darker clouds,

A bio machine of pressured steam.

Crack! From the west a flash of light!

Wait for it! Thunder is pushed forward.

More lighting , a smattering

popping up here and over there.

More lightning - more often.

More lightning - shorter wait

Till thunder rumbles across.

The wave of rain marches over us.

It becomes adamant, bogs down,

A sapping blanket that stops over us.

Over our heads - those who witness this.

A hard, coarse,  current, of pelting rain

Strikes all below it.

Creatures seek cover,

Green plants are pushed down

Into an over soaked ground.

The living and moving, shelter from the maelstrom

Of this circling, invading, buzzing world.

Leaves caught up become sharp and hard

And twist into crevices, pools, and muddy earth.

Those that look out and dare speak out

Murmur and whisper, "Will it end?"

To one another or to the voice within.

Will it stop?  Will it move on?

AFTERMATH

The storm has spent.

Now it rests and regroups.

Takes up more moisture to power itself.

Then hits again - far from done.

Hits again, but then a respite.

Begins to calm. Begins to sense

And ending at hand.

Begins to see reason to advance, to leave.

The rain slows as if floating here and there.

Less rain, less powerful rain.

Thunder and lighting separate from each other.

Divided by growing minutes.

Showers alternate with gusts of wind.

Leaves caught up, settle down.

Soaked ground has grass tips poking up.

Flowing water goes from sheets to ribbons.

Then what's left, isolated pools.

The forest barks -"We are still standing!"

Others answer back, "We too are still here."

And reach out to survey what remains.

We, ourselves come out of shelter

Look up as small drops hit our ears,

Or a shoulder, or a walking leg.

The ground squishes underfoot

Smells rich of moist dirt.

The trees shower and shed water on

Anyone who touches a limb.

The sky, a stone gray, breaks up.

A patch of blue, here and there.

The edge of the clouds begins to recede.

in the distance, the last of the storm.

Rain lines flow out from the cloud banks.

Look here.  Look there.

Check the places you first think of,

Worry about, wonder if.

See what needs repair, rebuilding,

Redoing, rethinking, retouching till it

Becomes what it was before the storm.

What's that?  Some one points from afar

The clouds separate as if a ladder

Was pulled through and materializes:

Bright, intensely, golden, and regal

Rays from the Sun flow down to us.

A piercing of light, a celestial water,

A shield of healing, a wedge in the world

To allow an outcome that permits relief,

That allows me this argued rejoicing.

Wiser that it happened, and might again;

But wiser too that it will end.