Our place on Earth
Strange day, Thursday.
My northern sky looks and smells weird. As if norse gods made an omelette with rotten eggs... Oblivious to the wheel of news we're spoon-fed on each breakfast show, I sense differences in my world.
We're caught in it! The land of ice is shooting ash high in the blueness of our atmosphere - everything is clutching at straws...
And in this maniac media rat race, the western world admits stand still at terminals. Air travelling merely postponed in the name of life! For once, wisdom has won the day instead of cash.
And my senses record it all.
Sulphuric DreamThat earthly plume,
invisible above our heads.
April, 15, 2010.
700 miles off my Shetland Box,
brand new steam column on the rise. And wind carries volcanic ash
like a long ship across a sky turned buttercup…
Dressing roof slates, wir triv an bruck,
with strange clingfilm;
I didn’t want to believe it,
particles of Icelandic world
found on the edge of my windscreen.
Sulphuric dream filled Egil’s eyes.
Poet’s note:
wir triv an bruck (Shetlan): our bits and pieces
© Nat Hall 2010
