Today is Saturday the tenth day of the month of February twenty twenty-three.
It’s morning once again.
And with no witnesses for birth,
the morning undoes itself once again:
The sun doesn’t disappoint,
bright and focused,
the air breaks open.
And because it’s Texas,
uncertainty’s face is nothing new.
The humidity makes the impulse of love the red wash of the dark room,
I can see us clearly.
The air is purified by the sun,
we breathe and exhaled.
Not a graveyard for thirst-seekers
but anticipation grows languid.
The hope for cool spring –in it’s turn to shadow the heat, the reluctant winds carry with apologia and lamentation.
And the faces of citizens wear the weariness of rains and humidity suspended in discomfort.
Discomfort, let others despair of you–I never begrudge you.
Is this season what the forecasters envisioned? Is nature watching?
Is the weather battered by wrong forecasts, confused without a clear identity?
Be ready when it returns from weary holidays, the elements will be present in abundance, venting a heavy lament.
_____
Copyright © 2020 Chris Chinwe Ulasi
♦ Chris Chinwe Ulasi, Professor of Media and Communication, is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News.
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