an emerald ghost

There’s a storm in the background, and my neon dressed child turning forward, changing his view, towards the calmer, smoother waters. These storms have been in the background for a couple of years now. Fires, Covid and flood. But there have been personal ones for this child too. I admire his ability to still be bright, turn around and reflect.

Part of the landscape, he belongs with the elements, the water, and sky, and the rocks as much as the emerald green slopes of the earth.

The truth photographed, manipulated and then drawn over, disturbing our existence. These storms have shaken how we see ourselves, reality disrupted, but we too can turn our backs on the storms to look forward to reflect on a better future.

The Storm by Emily Dickinson

There came a wind like a bugle;
It quivered through the grass,
And a green chill upon the heat
So ominous did pass
We barred the windows and the doors
As from an emerald ghost;
The doom’s electric moccason
That very instant passed.
On a strange mob of panting trees,
And fences fled away,
And rivers where the houses ran
The living looked that day.
The bell within the steeple wild
The flying tidings whirled.
How much can come
And much can go,
And yet abide the world!

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