As we search for our places in the world, it often seems that our population wanders around lost.
We cover our faces and pretend that it is enough to slog through our days immersed in the pettiness of keeping the sand out of our eyes. We huddle in our little corners and hope the storm will pass us by.
There are lots of movies lately that imagine the end of the world as we know it. It seems to be a favorite topic for all those young theater-goers who assume they will be the survivors.
But what does the Earth look like in those scenarios? Where have we arrived when the dust settles? Are a few pieces of silver enough for what we have given away?
I wrote “Shamal” (In the Cat’s Eye, Snap Screen Press, 2009) a few years ago to ask some of these questions as we continue our journey through human history. I fear that too many of us are now willing to do nothing as the Earth withers under the winds of war and the fires in the forests of our minds.
Glenn K. Currie
The storm rolled across the land,
Pushing a wall of sand a thousand feet high.
It carried the remains
Of crusaders and martyrs,
Filling the cracks in the earth
With ancient epoxy.
The lines of living were lost
In the enveloping darkness.
As the wind blended sacred soil
With the sweat of shepherds and kings.
It was a world of the blind,
Each man a wanderer.
When the dust settled,
The moon spread pieces of silver
Upon the burial ground,
And the stars whispered assurances
That nothing had changed.