The sun casts light through the forest canopy as the first leaves begin to fall. There are moments when the end of a year’s growth feels like the end of my own year's worth of growth. Thankfully, there is always the return of Spring, and rebirth. I can feel the season of contemplation nearly upon me. A time to be warmed by the wood stove, a time to ponder the before and after, a time to always think about….
Every now and then, the illness within that is currently known as bipolar disorder, subsides. This is such a morning. A morning where I breath air into my lungs that doesn't seem too hot or too cold. A morning where the ground isn't splitting open from drought nor so wet that I have to clean the mud off my shoes after walking. On this morning the leaves of grass absorb the dew on their surface and the soil is softened just enough by a decent shower to make a multi-mile long walk pleasant.
On a morning such as this I’m listening to Ouroboros by Ray LaMontagne as the coyotes howl in the distance. I’m thinking about overpopulation and a report that humans have used up more resources in the last 8 months than Earth can reproduce in a year. In this humidity I’m thinking about jet streams and wondering how they shift due to a warmer Arctic and what that might mean for where I live, not to mention what rising seas mean for the aquifers of Florida and the lands across the coastlines and islands of the world. Already one island village (Shishmaref) in Alaska voted to relocate to the mainland. On this morning I am thinking about what it will take to cool down this warming planet, whether it is all some cycle of warming and cooling that lasts over tens of thousands of years, and whether or not such thoughts are audacious or ludicrous.
On a positive note, I’m also thinking about the expansion of the wind farm near my home and other wind and solar investments that have been underway for a while now as energy sectors world-wide recognize the need to move away from fossil fuels as a primary resource.
I’m wondering why it takes a tragedy for the majority to listen. But I remind myself, people throughout recorded history, who were once considered to be heretics, tend to only become prophets after tragedy, and only then by those who are left that remember.
It is easy to become so caught up in daily, monthly, and even yearly routines that we fail to remember the stories of what takes place over a period of lifetimes beyond our own. Stories that speak of things like a monster that occasionally comes from the sea to eat people. Something one might laugh about unless he or she was standing on a beach near the epicenter of the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake. Everyone within reach of a transmission tower knew the name of the mythical monster after that day: Tsunami.
And so it is on this morning that I listen to music as the coyotes howl in the distance. On this morning that the air seems more humid than it should. On this morning that I am thinking and thinking and thinking about…what was it? If only I could remember.