The Storm
Outside my door there’s thunder and I saw lightning just a bit ago. The storm is to the south of me. I can see rain in the tree line. Off to the east, the sun is rising. Who knows when the passing thunderstorm will come or if it will come at all. It might simply be strutting it’s stuff to let me know what it could do if it chose to. It’s of no consequence though. It’s not enough to put water in the lakes. It’s a memory storm of what used to be before the weather patterns changed.
And the weather patterns have changed or are changing. The dry line in the US has moved to the east almost out of Texas. The continents are on the move. And there are eight billion people in the movie theater we call earth and they’re heating the place up. And I’m sick to death of people making a problem of science into a matter of faith. Do you believe in climate change? It’s not a matter of belief. It’s a matter of numbers, and every oil company from Exxon to Chevron has run the numbers and knows what’s up.
And now I can hear the rain on my roof and it’s falling almost straight down so I can stand on my porch and enjoy the coolness and think about my youth. And I am reminded that I need to clean the downspout on the back porch. It is well clogged and great gouts of water are pouring over the edge of the gutter. Not what the design calls for. Maybe I’ll do that today when the storm passes because almost all storms pass except those you chose to keep around and maybe that’s the secret to a well ordered life, learn when to let a storm pass.