A Cataclysm of Making and Unmaking

Everything is made to perish;
the wonder of anything at all is that it has not already done so.
No, he thought.
The wonder of anything is that it was made in the first place.
What persists beyond this cataclysm of making and unmaking?
~Paul Harding from Tinkers

What persists indeed? 

There are times when all appears to be perishing, especially in this dying time of year when the world is drying and burning up around us, blowing smoke hundreds of miles like a giant overhead dust storm soiling the air. 

Each breath reminds us that we are mere ashes.

The obituary pages predominate in the paper, accompanying an overload of ongoing cases of contagious illness, bad news, riots and a pandemic of angry rhetoric. 

All appears to be perishing with no relief or hope.

Waning light and shortening days color my view like the haze in the sky painting a sunset blood red.  This darkness is temporary and inevitably is helpless; it can never overcome the Light of all things made.

Life persists in the midst of perishing because of the cataclysm of a loving and bleeding God dying as sacrifice on our behalf. 

Nothing, nothing can ever be the same – He remains here with us through this. We only need to call His name.

God goes where God has never gone before.
~ Kathleen Mulhern in Dry Bones

A Fire in the Stove

After three weeks of hot weather and drought,
           we’ve had a week of cold and rain,
just the way it ought to be here in the north,
            in June, a fire going in the woodstove
all day long, so you can go outside in the cold
            and rain anytime and smell
the wood smoke in the air.

This is the way I love it. This is why
           I came here almost
fifty years ago. What is June anyway
          without cold and rain
and a fire going in the stove all day?
~David Budbill – “What is June Anyway?”

It has been a dry hot June here in Washington up until early this morning before dawn. I woke to the somewhat unfamiliar sound of dripping, a rain so subtle it was trying to sneak in under the cover of darkness without anyone noticing it had been missing for weeks.

I turned on the fire in the gas stove to take the morning chill out of this last day of spring, reminding myself just a week ago I had fans going in the house 24 hours a day.

Brisk rainy days in June may not be the choice of berry growers, brides or baseball fans, but I’m drinking it up. This is predicted to be another smoky summer due to widespread Canadian forest fires, so smelling wood smoke in the air is not at all comforting.

Despite the inconvenience to summer outdoor plans and harvesting, may the rains continue while the fields green up and the rivers and streams replenish, and may the air smell sweet with moisture.

It’s almost summer and the living is easy when we wake up to the sound of dripping.