Category: Climate change

Coal in Every Stocking

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

From a young age, Johnny did his best to earn coal in his stocking when St. Nick came. He pulled his sister’s hair. He stole his brother’s allowance. He even kicked the dog. 

His reach is wider now. But he’s still the same trickster he was as a child. And he’s still enamored with coal. He’s earned enough coal this year to smog up the length and breadth of America. Johnny cut a deal with the mines. Santa will deliver. And with the economy, and the cost of toys, not to mention the cost of heat, America will thank him.

Contemplating the Future with a Roof over My Head.

Photo by Peter Kessler 2025

Men with pitchforks remove the roof. Outside, tarpaper shreds cover the ground around the house.  A few shingles made it down, too. In one short week, our roof will be guaranteed to last for another 30 years.  

I will be 104 when this new roof is old enough to be replaced. I’ll be barely hanging on, more likely gone.

My children plan to keep the house. Such faith. In thirty years this house could stand on a desert or a flood plain. There might be no house. It’s silly to speculate. The future is not guaranteed; but the roof is.

The Magic Diaspora

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Dressed for travel, carpet bags packed, the Little People gathered around Granny Ellen’s grave. Saddened by Granny’s death, they knew that not a one of the village folk could take her place. She was the last of the elf whisperers. She spoke for nature. The elves reckoned the time for talk was past and the time for action too far in the future.

Gaia was resigned. The elves were united. Earth’s people had ignored drying trees, tolerated the stinky air and the murky water. Gaia summoned the Milky Way to make a staircase and the elves set off for home.

A Change of Spring

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Not windy as we thought it would be.
Light breeze spins a metal orb;
shelf fungus grows in a tree knot.

Spring, the first of many buds,
of many mushrooms, honey colored. They make the most of rain.
Draw it into gills that spore. The dogs sniff around, giddy.

Soon enough another front will come. We’ll hunker inside.
Soon enough a fierce February like last 
February when soil sogged and trees uprooted.

We live by the weather, uncertain what else might give way,
grateful the sun shines, for now.
Then watch the world move fast past points of no return.