A cranky old man --
A Grump --
Once told me to
"Get a life."
I had been telling him
Of the joys of weather watching.
He felt I should be working,
Earning money --
That was all that mattered.
I could have uttered
Several monosyllabic interjections
Of quad alphabetics
In response.
Instead I took pity
On his dull soul
And told him to
"Get an eye....
A weather eye."
I doubt he listened to me
Anymore than
He would listen
To the song of
Wind and Storm
Playing in the local sky theater.
I hope in my last
Minutes of life
That I have time
To give thanks:
First for the Loves
Of my life,
And then for having had
A weather eye.
I cannot remember now,
At the half-century mark, exactly
When I first cultivated the sight.
I do know that I lost it,
Or rather misplaced it,
For a number of years
Amongst the equations and graphs
And fears the sky was falling,
But it came back.
Perhaps it was
The lose of extreme elements --
Thunder and lightning and blizzard --
As I move from the Great Lakes shores
To the Pacific coastline
Lacking these weather monsters,
I again became attuned
To the colour subtleties of evening altostratus
And the interplay of mountains with wind and clouds.
Weather is a visual constant
In all our lives
Derived from invisible gases
Playing in the arena of the sky.
See the clouds which bring the rain
Feeding the crops that give us life?
See the rainbow,
Jehovah's covenant with Noah?
See the snowflakes
Dance upon the wind?
See sunset crimson and gold
Behind the massive ebony clouds
Signaling the tempest's end?
Yes? No?
The difference is
A Weather Eye.
I have mine.
Can I help you
Find yours?