Maple seeds are pasted against the sidewalk.
I walk over them, under my umbrella,
And I think how the planet works
In mysterious ways.
The hard spring rains come
Just as the seeds are ready to fall.
The rains pull them from the branches
And force them deeper
Into the soil
Their chances for survival
That much better.
Maybe that's what crisis
Is to humans.
A torrential rain
A force behind a course of action
Pushing us deeper
Into the shit.
If only old Charlie was still here
To tell us
About the evolutionary advantage.
To tell us why we need rain.
6 comments:
nah, Charlie would be too pissed or involved with the Scopes trial fiasco.
i do think our "crises" are usually made up by us, and the "torrential rain" for which we wait, or long, is incidental. we are no longer as pure as the natural way in which maple seeds (or any other, for that matter) propagate, and therefore we've "dirtied up" the process. our monumental struggles to change the course of destiny is, in reality, a piddly little attempt at steering the ship; laughable at best by those who either realize how insignificant we are as humans, or by the immortal gods who get a kick out of all of this. funny this metaphor is up on your site to-day; i had a 4 hr. long discussion w/my mother regarding this same subject last night. we both came to the conclusion that we, as a human race, really are a comical animal. thanks for making me think like this at 6 a.m. on a sunday. shouldn't i be, like, reading the NY times w/a cup of coffee and relaxing in my p.j.s until noon? oh wait....i have a 2 yr. old whose mother's been gone all weekend. never mind. see ya around.
I often wonder if we give ourselves too much credit. We are hell of a lot less significant than we would like to think. I think it's cool that your mother can keep up with you, conversationally speaking. As for making you think like this so early, my pleasure.
And how was the Pacific?
don't wonder, just know it.
not only are we insignificant, really, in the scheme of nature (other than systematically depleting and destryoing it), but we have egos. and we think we're something.
the Pacific continues to be fabulous. i'm visiting Pitcairn Island next; in search of Fletcher Christian's kin.
p.s. my mom doesn't keep up with me; I struggle to keep pace with her.
We are significant, but sadly only in our destructive nature. Your mother must be really something. Enjoy the island LX.
for me, the rain will always be cleansing. maybe the shit gets washed away and fertilizes those seeds. hmm.
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