THE VORTEX

So much rain is coming down. Small cracks in the fence are sprouting weeds. Veins of a maple leaf are glistening, the story and its teller seeming like the back of my hand. And how it feels, again, like when I dropped out of making nuclear weapons.

A way out of making missiles came in the form of technical writing. It was a move in the right direction. But after all, integrated circuits, supervisory control systems – all of that was a barge for loading lumps of coal. Which was better, but still not a very good fit. A way out of the entire war machine would have to be found.

It harked back to when I got summer jobs in high school. Compared to electronics, a completely different world. So, imagine you're a musician. You're given a sheet of new music. And not much on it. There are no notes, it has no time signature, just, “Don't go through the garden empty handed.”

My first customer was an avid gardener, a horticulturalist, and her practical advice was prescient. I still consider it more than just good fortune or mere chance.

Today on my way through the side yard to get the green recycle cart I pause to pull some weeds. It seems second nature, natural as breathing. The sky is dark, perhaps brooding the unthinkable. Today's weather merges with the climate, a slower than nuclear disaster. It was once a conversational gambit, but now climate joins religion and politics as a taboo topic at some dinner tables.

Prospects for our world seem dim. If a critical mass does not form, the odds look to favor a fairly quick end to humanity. On the brighter side, this dreary aspect might at the last moment concentrate minds. The actual weather, though part of a still disputed trend, is compelling attention more forcefully than anyone can deny.

Choosing to be a maintenance gardener was choosing to appreciate what words cannot describe. In the meantime, just passing through, I'll take care of what I can.

Anyone can rake leaves.