Note: Last night, reflecting on the coronavirus and the hour-to-hour, sudden changes in our global living, I wondered: What if? What if this worldwide viral onslaught is but one wave of environmental assaults on (insults to) our accustomed ways of being?
For, as I consider the growing, present threats of climate change and our seeming across-the-board, over-the-globe less than universal human willingness to acknowledge (and, even less, to act accordingly in the face of) the reality, what if more are the woes to befall us?
Last night, retiring with this question, this morning, I was awakened by the following words of free-verse.
She, at all times, for sake of my desiring
(at times, my ceaseless clamoring, over-) served me well
from her Earthen store of vittles; always there, virtually more.
And She, graciously, from me withholding nothing
as my ever-rapacious craving
wanted (needed or, so, protested I) more.
I, thus, heeding nothing of any call
to modify my perpetual belly’s ache: “Feed me!”
I paid attention, little to none, as She,
right before mine eyes, truly, underfoot
(if only had I looked),
more and more, by the moment, aging
thus, less and less, drawing
from Her cupboard the bounty of mine accustomed taste.
Suddenly, it dawned upon me that I should be (begin!) caring for Her!
Yet tho’ She, o’er time, hath changed,
I remain who I am, with intemperate appetites,
The voice of morality long hath bade me: Will you care?
In fearful anxiety, I answer still: Can I change?
My reason demands I must,
for without my change in care,
we, both my Mother and I,
will go the way of all flesh,
which, as the prophet hath proclaimed,
is as grass that withers and flowers that fade.