So This is Winter

Yes, it’s cold. And bitter in some places in this country, like Iowa….

The weather is, like most of our recent (recent related to decades-passage of time) daily experiences, a new paradigm. As yet, and who knows, maybe never again, not predictable, because prediction relies on past behaviors, patterns, and there have not been like patterns year over year, decade over decade. Perhaps we can be said to be in turmoil. Is a paradigm shift by nature tumultuous?

Then again, perhaps any change is tumultuous? Even any shift is tumultuous? Perhaps, is there life without tumult, without turmoil?

I awoke to 14 degrees fahrenheit, three hours later it is 17 degrees fahrenheit. I can bundle up. Oh, for those who can’t, who haven’t the how to or the what to with. For them I hurt.

Without the season, without in this region, cold and hot, that which grows here, that which is the basis of sustenance, eventually cannot and cannot be. I feel the need and bow to it, to proclaim the importance of what is natural. What was created ahead of persons; what, by some accounts, accounts I trust, was entrusted to persons when persons came to be, to care for; i.e., respect, work with, live with, share within, assist in thriving, and receive assistance in thriving, because no entity here is without need of others, and any entity can benefit others. I need, also, to assist as I can, those of us who haven’t who can’t.

In my last few posts I seem to have elected me teacher. To the choir, I apologize. To the offended, I am sorry for you. To any who may choose to learn, or to consider, or to carry forward, I thank you.

_______________________

Sonnet 64

When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down razed,
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay,
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away,
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
but weep to have that which it fears to lose.

William Shakespeare