A Witness Statement: A Single Untimely Storm

Running through streaming squalls under saturated skies

This week’s The Crow is a short glimpse at a small slice of time. But, as every small moment is connected to infinity, the racing rains that tore through this stormy afternoon mean this moment may well stretch into the far future.

We all exist in a delicately balanced biosphere, an intricate and complex set of interrelated happenings where the tiniest of nudges can cause the most spectacular of outcomes. Right now, we are witnessing a toppling of this balance and this is my witness statement highlighting one simple moment in the complex flow of moments.

I’d like to say thank you to everyone who subscribes to (or follows) The Crow. I am genuinely honoured that you’ve chosen to give your attention for but a moment. But who knows what these moments will lead to ;)

Photo by Joshua Reddekopp

I watch the swaying wild flowers being pummeled by a storm shower, their heads like butterflies flapping and fluttering in the bluster as the finite community of life housed within the tiny jungle of stems and blades batten down the hatches for a spell.

Under the billowing white clouds, like volcanic eruptions afore the deepest of purple greys, the dog and I find ourselves in a shaft of sweeping sunshine as we scamper from our refuge, across the open grasses, toward the humid labyrinth of oak, birch, alder and pine that awaits on the other side.

Above this meadow, stuffed with an absurdity of insects, overflowing with tiny roaming mammals, each avoiding the occasional lonely snake, hang a kettle of red kites that scan these succulent grounds. But today the skies are empty. Even the marauding crows are waiting out the rains.

The dog runs full pelt though this delicate balance, scooping up chomps of soaking greenery like a skimmer catching fish with its lower beak.

This momentary palette of streaming squalls and saturated skies will make all the difference in the years to come. The alder trees along the lake shore have tiny conical fruits that should beget future alder generations. But today’s storm will decimate the fruiting that ordinarily sustain nations of wildlife through the winter months. There will be pokey resources in the coming year, leaving only the ancient dilemma of migration or starvation to be solved as a single untimely storm delivers the certainty of a more barren future.

The dog and I are engulfed by the wild scent of life as the rich textural odours of flowers and grasses and soil come bursting from this moment of deathly beauty, as we run through the wild flowers to escape the rain.

---

If you’ve enjoyed reading Jonathan Foster’s The Crow then please go ahead and subscribe. There’s plenty more to read on the “Stack”, and every week you’ll receive a new philosophical contemplation to get you feeling and thinking. Thanks for reading.