Henri

It has started raining heavily and the winds are picking up. On one Tropical Storm Henri tracker, the arrow points directly to where I live in Pittsfield, MA before veering north and east. I am keeping an eye out since I have not yet moved my hanging plants or outdoor furniture. My flashlights are ready, my devices charged.

My writing group and I have been exchanging Haikus about this storm for a few days, several of which are fairly lighthearted. It is easy to do when you don’t feel especially endangered:

Waiting for Henri.

Safe enough to write poems.

Mere soupçon of fear.

In some ways I actually welcomed the bad weather:

Distant storms bring rain,

Gloomy weekend on the way.

Gift of quiet time.

However, when I stop to think about it, I am not so blasé. Our own actions and inaction have increased the number of damaging hurricanes. I may escape the worst of the effects of climate change, but I know my grandchildren won’t be so lucky. They spent the summer at the family’s condo on the southeast coast of Florida, not far from where a building collapse two months ago killed almost 100 people. This worked its way into one of my less optimistic Haikus:

Foundations crumble,

We rebuild on shifting sands.

Vanity endures.

Earlier I wrote:

Seas swollen, earth parched,

Fires rage across continents.

Our hubris lays waste.

Granted ample time to write this weekend, but well aware that my words are empty without action.