A rooster by the shore is crowing.
Clouds gather into a thick gray stew that spills across the sky rolling like a wave toward land.
A rooster crows as crowds gather to bathe in a stew of arrogance, anger and hatred that spills out onto air waves, washes like gray water across the collective consciousness.
There’s a storm coming!
“Cock a doodle do….” Do little…..
The rooster on the beach doesn’t “know” the ocean is rising and the atmosphere warming in the same sense that we as humans “know” geometry or Spanish. But the claws of his feet, the quills of his feathers, the appendages of his comb tingle
with unpleasant sensation. Not only is a storm coming,
A Storm IS Coming….
There is a brood that clucks
“So what! We’ve all seen storms before…..(and trust we’ll see them again) and it all works out.”
(Even for the casualties who sooner or later are joined by the survivors and perpetrators in circus tent afterlife).
World War I, World War II, Cold War…, Hiroshima, Buchenwald, Rwanda.
We’re still here….
A rooster calls to the sea.
(We just hear a cock crowing).
His plaintive keen is asks, “What happens when Air, Water and Soil are turned to poison?”