Dreaming the World

The morning’s heavy rain ebbs and flows. There are flash flood warnings for our area, yet again, the summer rains finally challenging the drought, but also, often bringing too much water at once. Still, it seems all the earth welcomes this life sustaining wet.

The piles of boxes in the house and garage are much reduced, save for the basement where ongoing construction has limited our ability to find and unpack boxes as we need them. There are paintings and prints on several walls and plants hanging from hooks by windows. Most of our books have journeyed from boxes to shelves, and some are actually in some semblance of order.

Nori has found a rhythm of hiding, usually in plain sight, while the carpenters are here, then roaming at night. She’s also playing more. Yesterday the neighbour cat visited which engaged her fully for a few minutes. We are not yet certain how she feels about it; is the cat a potential friend, or simply an intruder?

Yesterday we went for a walk in a nearby bird preserve. We arrived late in the morning and saw a few birds, heard fewer, and wondered what we had missed by not visiting earlier in the morning and summer. Looking out over the bay, we were blessed by the sudden appearance of a large heron landing in front of us, majestic, then disappearing below the cliff face before we could identify it. The bluebird boxes were empty, and the sumac had begun to turn, some low lying leaves autumn red.

At our old town beach the osprey are still raising young due to their late start. By now the chicks would usually have fledged and the parents would be thinking about heading south. In the swamps the swamp maples have taken on considerable color as they stand knee deep in August water. And so August begins.

On our book shelves stand volumes by many nature writers, mostly from the Northeastern U.S.. Taking one down quickly reveals the immense changes afoot in our ecosystems, and the rapid collapse of so many populations of other species. Those forays into yesteryear frequently uncover texts worrying about the fraying of the fabric of the world, leaving me to wonder how those writers, many of whom have passed on, would view the ongoing catastrophe in which we live.

As I write, our very wet postal person delivers a document from my IRA administrator, reminding me that I am “profiting” from the destruction of so much I care for. We try to choose investments that do more good than harm, while knowing that our actions are largely symbolic; still, symbolic acts count.

Of course, this, too, shall pass, and the Earth will recover in ways we cannot truly imagine. That, however, will take a long time, perhaps a million years. In the meanwhile, being human, we feel grief and rage, and perhaps, helplessness. The Ancestors may get it, the spirits, perhaps, not so much. They all encourage taking the long view while honoring our human emotions and experiences. Sometimes I think they just can’t comprehend how difficult that is to do.