Shapes what follows.
The wavecrest runs to shore
Its rise and fall inevitable
Just as its rise and fall
Responds to the seabed slope
It rattles over.
Cloud piles in before
The weather front
And every squall throws itself
In downpours on the upslope hills.
Topography brings the weather to where it rains or shines
Breaks clouds or masses them
Lets the sun on forest warm it
While other trees’ rain binds them in mist.
The difference is in the width of river running to sea,
In the deep gully dug through stone and the years of its digging,
Wind shaving the mountain tops, ice shattering rock faces
And roots penetrating the smallest crevice
To grow landscape and crumb the earth beneath.
Like a lumbering gift, weather comes
And over larger time, climate,
Easing in whirlwind storms, fogs and tempests,
The gale’s long anger, the sweet drizzle, the ice of a still night;
Every package of danger or delight
The bright sky clearing after rain
The long summer drought
And the high endless blue of its days.
Days, discrete and self-contained.
Seasons, months, sliced-up time and the weather they carry,
Every hour, a lifetime,
Every lifetime or instant extended:
Each contains the essence of the next.
Today’s cold blow blows over
And the warm south winds hustle up.
Tomorrow’s grey sky opens to the blue again.
Yesterday was wet from heaven to horizon
And when its spates go running clear
A slight summer wind comes home
And the trees shiver with the touch of it.
Heavy weather presses on the ground.
The ground rises to it, replies or sighs,
Lightens it.
© BH 2014
This is another in the poem cycle, Initialising. Good news is, I've completed it. Three more to post after this one. The whole cycle is here. 18 years in the making, if memory serves.
As I noted elsewhere, the 'Initialising' contains the titles for all the others so each was conceived in response.Not everyone likes to craft a poem from a title. It seemed OK to me.
But then, what do I know?
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