I’m not saying climate change doesn’t loom like a specter in the closet; shadowing out by degrees in a slow scare. It is there. It is real. That said, haven’t we turned into a nation of worriers?
‘They’ say if you’re thinking too much in the past-
If you’re worried too much about the future, –
So I would gather from that; that the trick is to simply be? In the present?
I was sitting here in my northeastern corner and wondering why Summer and Winter, with their extremes, seem endless. Yet- the transitional seasons of Autumn and Spring flit silently away, so quickly or so it seems.
Everyone is asking, “Is it just me; or-
Aren’t the days too hot for Autumn?
Did Fall come too early?
Isn’t it too cold at night for October?
Don’t the trees seem to be losing their leaves too fast?
Isn’t Fall usually more vibrant than this?”
On it goes. A nation of worriers. Simply partake. Enjoy. Chill! It is what it is. Autumn is all dressed up with no one attending the party; if everyone’s stuck worrying and judging whether she’s appropriately dressed.
I know it’s easier said than done. I’m a world class Olympic worrier. Rationally, yes I know this is a recipe for scaring up a heaping plate of doldrums.
I’m just messing with you! I don’t do that. But I do try to keep the specters in hiding by reminding myself that often it’s the lens viewing these changes outside that needs fine tuning.
I could rattle off a list of worry triggers the world is keen to present us with on a daily basis; but that is a waste of time.
Okay. I’ll list just six worries and then that’s it!
There are people building bunkers; just in case. There are underground seed depositories; just in case.
Bees are on the decline.
Kids have new reasons to fear school.
The caps are melting. My son can’t watch the news. He sprinkles kava kava on his food. . .(He does enjoy a long walk though. No matter the season. He has especially always liked to sit by waterfalls; as do I.)
But….somewhere dragonflies’ wings beat thirty unbelievable times per second. They’re blissfully oblivious.
The smell of paste. Children, somewhere, are pasting construction paper leaves onto trees painted dark brown. For now, there is color. Artists are moved and inspired. For the children, innocence. And a wonder that probably is too fleeting.
It’s very easy to believe that the alleged 36 hidden righteous people (whose good sustains the world) is a lot of optimistic bunk. Scientists. Theologians. Anthropologists. Philosophers. All searching for the same thing:
When Winter arrives I will hear this (and you will too):
“Is it just me or-
Are these last few Winters warmer than I remember?
Shouldn’t it have snowed by now? It should’ve snowed by now.
I can’t remember ever being buried with this many storms..is heavy snowstorm after snowstorm even normal?
Isn’t it too bitter out, even for Winter?
Hasn’t Winter started too early?”
On it goes. A nation of worriers.
It is what it is.
But it isn’t winter yet. Because this is here, fleeting as it seems:
And I’m going outside for a lungful of it.