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Future Dreams

The hot water in the teapot
is boiling and the kettle whistling loudly. 
It seems to have gotten hot, very quickly, 
as if time was speeding up,
and not slowing down, 
or allowing for those that can not run
to walk faster. 

This morning the sun itself... 
seems on a mission to reach 
its zenith in the sky, 
but one has to wonder why? 

The birds outside are fewer than yesterday, 
the storm having taken some south.
They will come back when the winds drop, 
or they will die trying to reach home. 
It is what they do, 
it is what we all do, 
in an effort to be made whole. 

The shadows are longer in the shade
and the sun is hotter in the open,
than it has been felt in a hundred years. 
By afternoon, the clouds will return
with a vengeance to pour upon the land
which can not hold the precious liquid anymore. 
Instead, it simply runs down the sides of the mountains, 
through fresh steams and rivers newly formed. 
It rushes by homes that were once safe, and dry. 
Now the land itself repels, and denies.

This season will lead into the next, 
but diminished in capacity and ill-prepared. 
We are worn out from the fights
we have already lived through, 
but the war is far from over. 
Bow, kneel, and pray for a better day, 
in some way to bypass this one for the next, 
without losing our train of thought 
or reflecting that we are small, 
and only He is tall.

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