Weather Talk
At the office,
we don’t discuss
the weather.
We argue it, bitterly,
debating –
beneath glaring fluorescents
in front of computer screens
– which extremes of the year
are worse.
The designer
whose desk is next to mine
looks out at the snow
Dear Jesus!
Thinking of driving home
and slow business at his store.
I don’t know how anyone
could think that stuff was beautiful
he mutters
in my direction.
It’s part of Creation.
How can it not be beautiful?
I shoot back
hitting my Christian colleague
below the belt.
In summer I stumble in
already limp and listless
by 9 am
after my walk through
humid ozone soup
As I lurch toward the
air conditioner,
grumbling,
the designer laughs
and reminds me
it’s finally hot enough to swim.
As my eyes light up at the prospect,
I acknowledge the hit.
We go on.
The director shakes his head
as one editor leaves her office window
open to a cool October breeze
and the other oversleeps twice a week
until daylight saving returns.
We stumble along behind our 9 to 5 plow
clearing a level path of same-length days
through the hills of the cycling seasons.
Along the way
we’ve filled in
long winter nights
with darkened commutes
and business-as-usual
like we filled in the
menacing swamps
not figuring out
what they had been used for until
our family lives flooded.
We’ve mined the summer
heat for productivity
like West Virginia mountaintops,
leaving the tailings
strewn about in leaky air conditioners
over-crowded beaches
and anti-perspirant stains.
We’ve lopped off
months of good nights’ sleep
storytelling, and prayer
like groves of ancient pine.
They will take longer than we know
to grow back.
And still we talk about conquering
mother nature
like people who’ve conquered
a great boulder
by scrambling desperately up and
over every day
scabs and broken fingers
notwithstanding
refusing to change course,
walk around it,
and rest in its
soft mossy shade.
At the office,
we don’t discuss
the weather.
We argue it, bitterly,
debating –
beneath glaring fluorescents
in front of computer screens
– which extremes of the year
are worse.
The designer
whose desk is next to mine
looks out at the snow
Dear Jesus!
Thinking of driving home
and slow business at his store.
I don’t know how anyone
could think that stuff was beautiful
he mutters
in my direction.
It’s part of Creation.
How can it not be beautiful?
I shoot back
hitting my Christian colleague
below the belt.
In summer I stumble in
already limp and listless
by 9 am
after my walk through
humid ozone soup
As I lurch toward the
air conditioner,
grumbling,
the designer laughs
and reminds me
it’s finally hot enough to swim.
As my eyes light up at the prospect,
I acknowledge the hit.
We go on.
The director shakes his head
as one editor leaves her office window
open to a cool October breeze
and the other oversleeps twice a week
until daylight saving returns.
We stumble along behind our 9 to 5 plow
clearing a level path of same-length days
through the hills of the cycling seasons.
Along the way
we’ve filled in
long winter nights
with darkened commutes
and business-as-usual
like we filled in the
menacing swamps
not figuring out
what they had been used for until
our family lives flooded.
We’ve mined the summer
heat for productivity
like West Virginia mountaintops,
leaving the tailings
strewn about in leaky air conditioners
over-crowded beaches
and anti-perspirant stains.
We’ve lopped off
months of good nights’ sleep
storytelling, and prayer
like groves of ancient pine.
They will take longer than we know
to grow back.
And still we talk about conquering
mother nature
like people who’ve conquered
a great boulder
by scrambling desperately up and
over every day
scabs and broken fingers
notwithstanding
refusing to change course,
walk around it,
and rest in its
soft mossy shade.
