Digital Ischemia

21/12/2019

The Missed Visitor

Filed under: Shorts — Tags: , , , , , , — Teepwriter @ 11:00

A maudlin metaphor for an unexpected, unknown arrival

Outside, our familiar environment is obscured in shades of dark blue and dark grey. Snow has been falling heavily since dusk and is expected to continue through the night. The power will likely go off but we are prepared; we’ve done this before. We are all together, warm and safe. After tea we play a candlelit board game then head to bed early as the cosiest place.

In the morning we each go straight to our nearest window to see the white world: huge pillows of snow draped over everything, again disguising our familiar world. Some of us rush to wrap up and run out to feel it viscerally. Some of us watch from other windows revelling in the dazzling pristine purity. We gather for breakfast and share sights and crystals. We are interrupted by hammering at the door. A neighbour has come for our help. There seems to be someone lying in the snow along the road.

The shock mutes us. We tramp along what seems to be the footpath, all the joy of white discovery now frozen. There is indeed somebody lying in the snow, dead. A small figure, thin and pale. We can’t tell if it’s male or female, child or adult.

If only we’d known. If we’d known someone was out there we would have left a light on. A torch. Something. We would have welcomed them into our home, given them warmth and food, dry clothes. We all think of the people we do know who we can offer warmth and food.

________

Oddly, this came about as a analogy for the miscarriage of an unknown pregnancy: someone who would have been welcomed had their potential arrival been known.

20/12/2015

A Visit to St. Nature

Come with me, along the sodden river bank. Put the bustle aside for a moment to mind a different world. Crunch through the crust and catch a creature beginning its seasonal lament…

A Visit to St. Nature, laid-eggs and gentians!

‘Tis the night before Solstice, and all through the soil
All the creatures are flat out, engrossed in their toil:
A-stoking the chimneys, a-polishing wares,
In hopes that their customers soon will be there.
The robin is posing above the rose bed,
While morsels of bugs and plums dance in its head;
Here parsnips and beetroots in their earthy wrap,
Are well settled in for a long winter’s nap,
While out of the woods comes paper for letters;
Gall wasps and acorns make ink for the writers.

But metals mined from precious earth leave a gash,
So you get your gadgets to throw in the trash.
Marvel at this pristine land under snow,
Hiding the poison, the maiming below.
What to your wondering eyes will appear:
An oak forest slain or great herds of deer?
A coral-free ocean, a melting Arctic,
Or land ripe for drilling and likely oil slick?

More rapid than eagles, the grousers’ guns came,
Despatching hen harriers, pursuing their game.
Now right whale, now rhino, now orca, now oryx;
For ivory, elephant; for petting, slow loris;
For timber, for palm oil, for pain medicine,
Farewell tiger, orang-utan, pangolin.
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Each life is extinguished, without asking why.

So, can you get conscience, and consciousness too,
And see all your toys as distractions from you?
For you, in a twinkling, like stars on our roof,
Have altered our planet, yet deny the proof.
Hydrology, chemistry, flooding the ground:
Thresholds and chances passed by in a bound.

You still dress in fur, still leather your foot;
Your homes are still tarnished with ashes and soot.
Your bundles of toys are breaking our backs;
Your shopping addiction, your over-processed snacks,
Your eyes never wrinkle, your straight nose, how very
Successful, and how your lips swell like a cherry!
Your so-perfect life is wrapped up with a bow,
So where did your ultimate happiness go?
The therapy, pampering, white straightened teeth,
And the drink, and the dope and the smoke in a wreath;
Around your taut face and your little flat belly
That strain when you laugh, at dire, brainless telly…

Where went the magic, the fairy and elf,
The enchantment that humbles, in spite of yourself?
The wink of the eye and the twinkle of sled,
The ringing of bells and the sparks where it sped?

Oh, please step outside, and outside of yourself,
And fill up your ears and your eyes and your health,
And take in some fresh air and nourish your nose,
Or ask yourself why, if the smell isn’t rose;
You might be surprised, even pleased if you listen,
Delighted to see all of Nature a-glisten.
So, as the world turns and a new year is nigh,
Happy Solstice to all, and to all a good night!

 

Humble apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.

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