Weather Warning

I am writing words while seated at a borderland. My new watch has ceased to record any measurement, as this came from a respectable merchant the conclusion must be I have wandered into a place of possibilities. Though not a particularly inspiring vista. As far as the eye can see bleak grasslands, stroked by persistent moaning winds, the occasional rise in the ground breaking up the flatness, dark grey cover of cloud so pervasive it does not appear to have motion. Turning in all directions this would appear to be the circumstance for at least as far as the eye can see. This is not a place I would care to spend a night upon, the moon supressed by the cloud would not be able to shed illumination and such an environment would be ideal stalking grounds for things which abide in limited visibilities.

The grass is dry, hard stuff, appears to thrive in a place short on moisture; it is sucking sustenance from somewhere for there is no sign of rock, no earth, nor sound of water. I notice I do not feel chill from the continuing wind. This should be a winter, but the temperature is steady. A sullen, heavy warmth. Not freshened by breeze. Encouraged by the leaden sky.

So if this is a possibility what history brought about its domination?

Wherever this is the place is receptive to my thoughts, for the winds begin to birth voices far off at first, all discordant, becoming shrill as they grow closer. Conflicting. Arguments with neither side listening.

And these myriad angry reeds must have beginnings. So from all horizons come marching ghosts, rank upon rank, unfocused eyes narrowed in hate, mouths twisted in litanies of passions learned by rote.

I fear for I am at the centre where they must meet and will be witness and possibly caught up in their battles, battered about in a storm. For here they come, so close I can make out individual features; the ages, the races, the fashions. All sharing the sterility of confrontation. They meet, but do not see each other, they pass through me, they pass through each other. I am at the centre of a storm of voices and features, but no one sees the other. And on they pass marching over the horizons, away from each other, growing more distant. Once more I am alone.

So how often do these ghosts come back? Drawn by their dry, pointless passions, ever marching towards each other and never meeting. How much time was spent in their mortal spans upon this effort, giving up their potential for joy, love and accomplishment? At what stage did they cease to hold onto the value of Life and give way to this futility. I suppose there must have been conflict, and yet I saw no armed ghosts. Maybe those who took this option blew themselves literally out of existence. Are these hillocks and mounds the remains of cities and other artefacts now covered by the grasses?

So was this how it turns out. Now apocalyptic wastelands, no bones of cities and irradiated colourful vistas, no grotesquely shaped descendants with bizarre cultures. Did those who lived on hate and conflict suck hope and joy out of everyone? Did it become impossible to even live, much less thrive. And when we had finally ceased; weighed down by our depressing, bleak confrontations, had we polluted the world with this particular toxicity so much so that only harsh, leeching basic life continued?

Beneath a dull desolate sky.

We ended.

It would appear, not with a Bang, nor a whimper, just a bitter, derisive curl of the lip.

Who would have ever thought it?   


14 thoughts on “Weather Warning

    1. Good Morning Gwin (08:15am here).
      I was going to write some more of ‘Patchwork’, but the antics of Brexit/US Presidential election processes and fall-outs still rankle. And so out came the first words and the rest followed…
      It started out not so much as a prediction but a ‘Is That All You Got??’ challenge to the hate-mongers and their lesser but still fellow travellers.
      And now I have an idea for set of essays; (I really will have to get myself organised….three projects at once???)
      Take care and best wishes to You & Yours Gwin.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Good Morning Roger (next day at 9:49am)
        This whole political thing is just so taxing!
        I say get back to your essays and writing projects. Those things give you life 🙂
        Take care my friend 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Quite the vision, fascinating and for anyone connected to this planet, a frightening legacy of anthropogenic environmental change. Another possibility, even bleaker than the one I choose to follow, but quite possible nevertheless. Mine usually gives me a “within a hundred years or so” time frame. Does yours have one? Not that it matters much, just curious.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Sha’ Tara.
      As I was saying to Gwin, this kind of pushed its way to the front.
      Although the format I guess is inspired by the old 1950s & 60s SF nuclear war-warning stories, the piece is more allegorical than a prediction. It’s a response to the slough of negative which has slithered back into our ways of Life.
      Currently I’m angry at both ides of the political debate for failing to do much to foster a spirit of consensus, and even more so at folk for failing to see this.


      1. Ok, but it struck a much, much deeper chord than that for me. It came across as post apocalyptic and really, what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with pushing the envelope, with extrapolating the likely consequences from today’s political, economic and social dysfunction and outright madness?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You could be right there Sha’Tara.
        I suppose I could post it up on one of the Public ‘Discussion’ (Ha!) Forums and then stand back and watch the various Huff ‘n Puff brigades get their undies in a bunch at such slurs on the nobilities of their causes.
        Willing to talk with folk, but talk and discussion seems out of fashion these days.
        Oh well.
        (This could be a time to prepare to make a modest amount in 2-3 years time from marketing and selling T-Shirts with the slogan ‘Toldja’)


  2. Very nicely written. It did strike me as a metaphor from the start – staring into the bleak, powerless to do more than observe, etc. This is the stuff of cold, misty November days, looking out over the political scene devoid of colour or redeeming features and one that, as you say, could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Let’s hope not. My one hope for this country is that the Senior Civil Servants, for whom I have huge respect, provide the kind of advice necessary to moderate the excesses of a Conservative Government who, although they have a slim majority, have no real opposition.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks.
      Despite the tropes from parts of the media the civil Service tries to achieve not because of but in spite of government, although that is becoming harder since local offices were done away with and the public can’t deal with problems face to face.
      It was the ‘CS’ that steered the country through the 2010 Coalition crisis, so here’s hoping.


    1. Thank you so very much Paula. I’m a bit bowled over by being compared with Cormac McCarthy, because my normal style is quirky, irreverent and scatter-shot. Sometimes though my anger at the false divides in society get to me and I have to write them out of my system.
      Best wishes for the holiday season and for 2017.


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