NCAR Fire after Record Snow
another day spent tasting the air for smoke
checking in on friends
body twitching with fight or flight
and this after months of snow
more snow than we could dare dream of
still never enough to damp down the threat of flame
it’s all year now
it’s every elevation
it’s a whole new level
of never-safe
restoration of water
The same clear stream flows from the tap today
but now it’s changed:
they say it’s safe,
which changes everything.
Charlie told us how it was to wait for water
at the mall in Zimbabwe, after things fell apart.
He’d grown up with safe water,
and when things first went wrong
he thought the water trucks would be temporary.
Someday he’d simply turn the tap again.
But, years later, he still waits in line.
When they said our water wasn’t safe
it was the latest in a string of improbable truths –
like December wildfire
like blocks of charred houses
like insurrection.
So, today, when they invite us
to turn the tap and drink,
I let go a caught breath
that’s been squeezing my throat
ever since we stopped
to fill the first jug.
safe
this is the safe time
everyone snuggled in their beds
minds easy
in our cheerful cabin
at the end of the plowed road
we go unmasked
rambling around the hills
confident in our isolation
things are mostly black-and-white
in such a small world
we have already put the pieces together
in a way that spells out
safe
but soon
the closed roads will open
the drifts will melt
appointments will be made and kept
the wide world will beckon
and the confusion of a thousand choices
will return –
our life of too many options
for right now
I’m going to luxuriate
in this small quiet safeness
throw myself down
and make snow angels in it even
press my whole body into its
cold near-certainty
before brushing myself off
and steeling for the next wave
at Green Cape Light
I go looking for a light in the darkness
even on days the sun shines full blast
look up – magic everywhere
today: a wombat scratching his back with a lighthouse
my happy healthy mum watching an echidna
my family ringed by waves
thrusting our heads into the center
of a crystal lens
learning how to turn
a flicker of flame
into a broad-beamed beacon
to keep drifting souls
(especially ours)
away from the rocks
anywhere in the world
thirsty for wave: Agnes Water
my toes, thirsty for wave
delight in the surf
wet sand sloughs dead cells
and salt air bathes
my pipes from sinus to lung
moonlight skips a warm glow across the crests
shifting from one end of the bay to the other
as I search the shore for turtle nests
here the ocean is as safe
as a wild thing gets
we are on agreeable terms
and my fingers loosen
dropping one heavy worry at a time
into the tide
then I edge away
knowing it’s a kindness
not to turn my back
off the beaten path
straddling intrepid and foolhardy
being brave yet reasonable
managing risk and reward
fear and amazement
like balancing black and white checks
on the temple guardians’
chessboard sarongs
under mosquito netting
inside the sheer wisp of fine netting
each outside light goes stretched and starburst
until sleep lets us surrender
to a false sense of safety
we enter and our mindset shifts
waking >> sleeping
apprehensive >> accepting
everyday >> romantic
common >> exotic
exposed >> protected
(partially)
each time I tug one gap closed
another springs in its place
impossible to fully close out
jungle
